Of late I have mostly been reading...

[ginghamkitchen]

He's a Badger Hound. Dachshund. He looks like a sausage, though, I'll give you that. What do you call your car, the metal box fast go go?

[babycart]

I would not like to see a honey badger, by the way. They seem really mean. Mind you, I have a dachshund. They were bred to take badgers down.

Dachshund owners make me laugh, like table tennis fans who get upset when you call it ping pong.
It´s a sausage dog. Bred to look like a sausage.

[ginghamkitchen]

I would not like to see a honey badger, by the way. They seem really mean. Mind you, I have a dachshund. They were bred to take badgers down.

[eine]

Why, my father asked himself — Why would so fine a fellow live below the ground? Just for the cool of the roots? The solace of dark tunnels? The blood of gophers?

[babycart]

Badger-related poetry from Robert Kroetsch´s long poem Seed Catalogue, which I tucked myself up with last night.

My father was mad at the badger: the badger was digging holes in the potato patch, threatening man and beast with broken limbs (I quote). My father took the double-barreled shotgun out into the potato patch and waited.

Every time the badger stood up, it looked like a little man, come out of the ground. Why, my father asked himself — Why would so fine a fellow live below the ground? Just for the cool of the roots? The solace of dark tunnels? The blood of gophers?

My father couldn’t shoot the badger. He uncocked the shotgun, came back into the house in time for breakfast. The badger dug another hole. My father got mad again. They carried on like that all summer.

Love is an amplification
by doing/ over and over.

Love is a standing up
to the loaded gun.

Love is a burrowing.

One morning my father actually shot at the badger. He killed a magpie that was pecking away at a horse turd about fifty feet beyond and to the right of the spot where the badger had been standing.

A week later my father told the story again. In that version he intended to hit the magpie. Magpies, he explained, are a nuisance. They eat robin’s eggs. They’re harder to kill than snakes, jumping around the way they do, nothing but feathers.

Just call me sure-shot,
my father added.

[Mr Naga]

I lived right out in the country for twenty years and never saw a badger. Still haven't. This place doesn't help.

On the way home from a booze-drenched night out I neared the estate where I used to live (in the suburbs of Croydon) only to have a badger tear out of an alleyway and directly at me. I let out a pathetic squeal in shock/fear before the badger had a change of heart and came to an abrupt and scratchy halt on the pavement no more than two feet in front of me before it ran off in the opposite direction. It was terrifying.

[ginghamkitchen]

I would like to see one, but I also respect their privacy.

[babycart]

I lived right out in the country for twenty years and never saw a badger. Still haven't. This place doesn't help.

But the countryside is crawling with badgers. Maybe try going out on foot, in a non-scarlet jacket and forget the pack of hounds?.

[ginghamkitchen]

I lived right out in the country for twenty years and never saw a badger. Still haven't. This place doesn't help.

[eine]

I love the last panel here, as if the hounds of the aristocracy are playing a great game of hide and seek with the badger, who always wins.

[ginghamkitchen]

This is going to end up expensive for me.

Esperantist Badger Special?

[eine]

This is going to end up expensive for me.

[Sonovox]

I think this is my favourite...

[SirSlim]

I believe that's the work of the indefatigable Lionel Fanthorpe - site has a nice collection of Badger books covers...

Wow - what a great collection of covers!



Thanks for the link.

[eine]

It may have been beaten into second position by Infinite Jest which I've just finished.

Aha! Currently reading:



Not read Infinite Jest. It's ON THE LIST though.