Hunting for Sport

"Got a new one, eh?"

Robert angled the wheelbarrow just right in the stiff gnome's hands, then stepped back to survey his work. He nodded. "Finally gave up on the traps and went out like my grandfather did. Club and net. Traditional, like."

Todd plucked his pipe out of his mouth and scratched at his nose with the stem. "Looks a bit peaky, though. They're best in the fall, when their little bellies are round."

Robert gritted his teeth. He glanced at Todd's yard, where half a dozen store-bought plumpers stood with jaunty, frozen smiles. "At least I earned mine."