So, upon facing the metallic blue portal that signifies yet another day of labour for the man this morning, i observed that there was a Shrew, undoubtedly the wrong way up, laying by my feet. "What happenstance brought this rather dapper rodent (in my opinion the Shrew has to be one of the most formally suited members of the animal kingdom, and hence a true wally of the rodent world) to such an ignominious demise"? I pondered to myself. Perhaps it was merely theatrically deceased, after all, i will have descended on it with some rapidity on my bicyclette, yes that's it, it is purely discombobulated into presuming me to be some bear like creature, i perused the unerringly still, tiny mammal with greater diligence............. Nope, definitely dead! OK, so why? Is this some deep Kernow ancient voodoo of nameless origin? Or is there an exceptionally affectionate and romantic Raptor skirting the thermals out there with a penchant for surf shop managers, leaving me gifts? As awesomely radical as these theories are, i somehow find them unlikely, although I'm pretty sure i spied a Buzzard making kissy faces at me the other day, but that's another story!
Well in the mind that the potential for voodoo was too strong to ignore and it was giving me the hebejebeez, i decided to give the little shrew a Viking burial in order to ward of any evil spirits, demons and, or knockers that may well have been summoned. So utilizing my ability to pack away dozens of magnums, i horded a trove of lolly sticks made a raft/pyre set it aflame and sailed my little furry brother down the Gannel to the next life!
God speed Shrew, God speed!
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