When the rice was good
The Boss had a few duck dogs before me and he doesn’t say much about them but they’re all buried under the old Yellow Box on the sand-rise overlooking the river.
I was sniffing around there a few days ago on our morning walk and he stopped, waved at the burial ground and offered another of his thinly disguised reprimands, as if I’m not quite good enough.
“They all saw a lot more birds than you ever will,...
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