The End and the Beginning

CARLS TRAVELS

September 22, 2022

Escape

The Brushwood blow-up was not so good for Carl. Judge Smails, along with the local sheriff and various varmint/wildlife confederations, were all after his ass big-time. Sneaking away from what was left of the Bushwood Course, Carl grabbed what he could from his make-shift home in the maintenance shed and hauled ass.

The local Greyhound terminal was a few miles away. The next bus was headed north to Canada and hopefully, refuge.

The bus trip provided Carl a chance to reflect and consider his failures as well his accomplishments. Always the optimist, he focused on his genetic manipulation of various grasses and related successes. He often enjoyed the fruits of his labors at each bus stop.

Cambridge, NY

The accumulation of several hits of his “fruits” at each stop sorta compromised Carl’s normally exceptionally sharp judgement. Upon arriving at the Cambridge, NY stop, late in the evening, Carl disembarked and stumbled around stretching out the remainder of his stash using his trusty roach clip (what is this? . . . just google it youngsters). 

While strolling around Cambridge, Carl encountered a nun. 

Given Carl’s experience with religious folk (i.e. the Llama and related compensation . . . Gunga lagunga . . . gunga, gunga-lagunga), he locked on. She was somewhat hot as nuns go. Much hotter than “monkey woman” Mrs. Crane. And much more lean and mean in between.. Carl could only imagine her in a pair of vintage Footjoy spikes . . . clattering on the concrete floor and jumping onto his beer-stained former frat house couch . . although one that was freshly leaf blown and ready for action. And, as with Mrs. Crane, wrapping those spikes around his head. 

Never being one to pass up on an op. to go for it. . wether with the aid of a ball washer or, in this case, a something a little more “natural” , Carl let went after the nun.

Upon encountering Carl, the Nun, being a nun . . . or really any normal person for that matter, was a bit shocked at seeing Carl. Carl, being Carl felt no embarrassment whatsoever. He introduced himself and offered what he had to offer. The Nun, as confused as she as she was, could feel a simmering heat rise in her subconscious . . . she felt a strange attraction to this somewhat deranged and stoned person . . . maybe it was Carl’s raw honesty OR maybe it was something else she saw . . who knows. Regardless, she considered her options and decided to experiment with the contents of Carl’s roach clip.

The Monastery

Where to hide Carl was second on Mary’s mind. First on her mind was something a touch beyond her vows but being the button-up nun she is, she set emotions aside and re-prioritized . . . most import was to find Carl a home . . . hidden from the daily machinations of the Monastery. A discrete old “lean-to” attached to the kennel building might work.

Mary’s Monestery is renown for breeding German Shepardndogs to realistic/original standards. In other words, screw Westminster and connected org.s and do what’s right. Breed dogs to fulfill their historic characteristics/behaviors . . . not to the whims of self-absorbed breeders who value their egos over the health and happiness of the dogs themselves.

Standards are high at the Monestery so 10-14 pups a year is the target with 3 to 5 pups that don’t make the mark set aside . . . some of these “sub-par” pups are usually, and happily, adopted by Monks and or Nuns.