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No, he s always on the go,” agreed Rapp, panting in exhaustion at just the memory of last month’s sandhills hunting expedition. "I was hoping he’d take the family to Disney World and give us a chance to take it easy, lying around with old Jackson. You know Jackson. iHe’s that fat beagle that lives tip in the big house. He’s not much good for anything. Couldn't catch a rabbit if it was standing in front of him and waving a flag but he sure barks a good show. Sounds like a real professional,” said Rapp with just a hint of a sneer in his voice.
The brown and white setter stretched lazily and gave a big yawn at the memory of the vacation rest that wasn’t. "Anyway, old Irv . . . ”
“You watch yourself there, Rappahannock. Show a little respect for the fyand that feeds you,” snapped Sugar.
“Sorry sis,” Rapp apologized, hanging his head and looking contrite. “As I was saying, the Master got it nto his head to drive out to Nebraska with his friend Jack Gynne, another game commission fellow, to hunt sharp tailed grouse and prairie chickens. Of course, we were to go along. He’d never go hunting without us,” added Rapp as he strutted proudly back and forth at the end of his chain. "Don’t go giving yourself airs,” Sugar warned. “The
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