If you’re all wondering where I’ve been since the last post, I’ve been sitting Chivas.
For the uninitiated, “sitting Chivas” is a lot like when Jews “sit shiva” — a week-long period of traditional mourning for the loss of a close relative. The only difference is, of course, that sitting Chivas is when you sit and drink a bottle of whiskey. And no, it doesn’t have to be Chivas Regal-brand whiskey. The name is just a coincidence. Sitting Chivas is for people who are not religious, and therefore need another way to indulge in self-induced sensations of dread and guilt. Also, we don’t have to wait for a relative to die — any death can be a great excuse to sit Chivas!
Exhibit A: the rabbit that always — I mean, used to — stare at my dog from the treeline in my family’s back yard.
Yes, this rabbit was a well-known visitor to my family’s back yard for a couple of years. He had even developed some level of understanding with my dog, in that he wasn’t afraid of my dog, and my dog couldn’t reach him without being electrocuted by the invisible fence. Heh heh — he sure did try, though!
Want to know what I named him? I didn’t. Why? Because I was too busy naming the two hawks and pack of several coyotes who also live behind my parents’ house. If you’re not picking up on the logic behind which animals I do and do not name, here’s why:
Unfortunately, Ethan Hawk flew away as I tried to get in for an action shot of him eating what’s-his-name up there. So, I was forced to settle for an action shot of him being dead.
Here’s where you’re probably asking, “why?” Why did I share this? I dunno. Cause it’s gross?
Stay tuned for next week’s photo shoot: Nameless Wild Turkeys, Thy Suffering Is Over!