Her name was Dot and she had spent her whole life on the bog. She loved that bog and those cranberries. She now gave tours to ignorant tourist who had no idea the beauty of the bog. Every once in a while there would be one person in a tour group who gave Dot a slight glimmer of hope. They would ask all the right questions and would listen intently to her description of the process of harvesting the berries. This happened so rarely that when that person appeared every three years or so it filled her with the hope that maybe mankind was not as bad as she really thought, that just maybe there was a kindred soul. Invariably this hope would build over the next hour of the tour and as always it would be dashed and smashed liked a ship against a rocky coast. More often then not she would see that hope die as each of these “ kindred souls” would prove they were not what she thought by letting their curiosity get the best of them and making the very fatal mistake of stepping out onto her bog. She was sure getting tired of burying all those bodies, but at least she had a lot of bog and after all it was really good fertilizer for the cranberries.
4 comments:
Ha ha ha!
I think this might be one of my favorite stories ever...or maybe it's just because I'm hopped up on Vicodin. ;)
Based on a true character perhaps...?
Well, I think it serves that guy right...what a jerk! He should have realized that only heavy industrial-sized harvesting equipment would ever be permitted to come into contact with those acres and acres of precious bushes; the risk of destruction beneath the feet of hordes of stomping tourists was just too horrible a thought even to contemplate.
Cranberry bogs are very delicate and require much attention. Humans are mindless creatures who serve no purpose other then eating and destorying the worlds most perfect fruit. I consider it a privilage and honor to protect the bog and if that means getting rid of one or two or 20 people a year so be it.
Dot
lol, that was good!
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