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Lassie-hunting In The Northern Forest

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Eulalia said:
Absolutely not, running barefoot and bare-legged is part of the thrill.
As to brambles, they've long been part of my forest fantasies -
as I told in 'Girly Games' whenI first joined CF:

There was a path on my way home from school that passed through rough woodland, where the bushes grew dense in summer. A gang of boys used to hide in there sometimes and ambush us girls, leaping out with long, prickly bramble-stems and wrapping them round our bodies and legs – it hurt like hell, and if you struggled it only made it much worse, so you were trapped, and they wouldn't let you go until they'd searched your bag and pockets for sweets, crisps or anything else they fancied for 'ransom' and you'd earned your freedom with kisses! You could go round another, longer way to avoid this trap, but if you didn't want to be teased and called a wimp, you just saved up the sweets and crisps your mum had put as treats in your lunchbox, hitched up your skirt, and walked bravely down what we girls called The Martyr's Path! I got 'captured' several times – it didn't upset me, I found it quite exciting, hurrying through the woods wondering if the boys were waiting for me, and when I was their captive they said I was 'good sport', 'cos I always made sure I'd got plenty of 'ransom' for them, and when they'd helped themselves to that I'd kiss them 'properly' to earn my freedom! The sight of brambles when I walk in the woods still sends a shiver up my thighs!
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We had a similar sport. We would walk in the woods. No briars and meet boys. We would carry a picknick lunch and a blanket. When we were young the big thrill was getting to watch each other pee. As we became teen agers it got a little more steamy
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
I am disappointed that a Scot doesn't know the difference between lassies and haggis.

There are few cryptids that have as complete a life cycle and a history as the wild haggis of Scotland. Even though the greater haggis is now extinct, the patient, quiet onlooker might be able to catch a glimpse of the elusive lesser haggis in the wild. Most of the haggis you find in restaurants is farm-raised haggis; this allows Scotland to preserve the few wild haggis they have left, and selective breeding has created haggis that bear bigger litters with more haglets, that are generally larger and less hairy, and that don’t get drunk as often as they used to.
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For those not familiar with the Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race. Here is haggis hunting. Undoubtedly less fun than lassie hunting for the fair Eulalie. But still tasty.
Warning: this depicts the trapping of an under-age haggis. Quite disturbing. View before Admin staff removes!
 
Praefectus Praetorio said:
For those not familiar with the Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race. Here is haggis hunting. Undoubtedly less fun than lassie hunting for the fair Eulalie. But still tasty.
Warning: this depicts the trapping of an under-age haggis. Quite disturbing. View before Admin staff removes!
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I'll stay with what I know...
hunting3.jpg
 
Barbaria1 said:
ught to be a law against near-sighted hunters! :confused:
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thehangingtree said:
Tree is actually long-sighted... his Roman nose makes up on the close-ups...
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But Barbara's complaint is well justified. How could you have not know that was a deer before you so recklessly killed it? It doesn't look anything like a lassie!
 
thehangingtree said:
A well fired dart injects her with a potion that temporarily all but paralyzes her.
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Eulalia said:
That's the way it goes - linkie-stunning darts are a mean trick,
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I don't go in for all these newfangled approaches. Not really sporting, what. You should be able to bring your linkie to ground, or somewhere more comfortable perhaps, without using darts. I mean, what's next - linkie detecting radar?
 
This comment is written at the very beginning of this tale which promises to be a truly great story. Looking forward to a great read. Have no real problem with most of the dialect - possibly because of certain ancestry.

Will tell of a friend who is a native Scot. Ian has been living in various places around the world for many decades, speaks perfect American English (comment as you wish), with some accent that one still has no doubt of his origin. According to his wife who has been married to him for over thirty years when they go back to Scotland to visit his family, brothers, and sisters she spends the entire time not knowing what anyone is saying.
 
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