Each day the raids carry on for several hours after daybreak. In the early afternoon there is a brief cease fire. Marauding and mayhem resume a few hours before the sun sets. For the young one and old scrappy -- that daily break in the battle is absolutely necessary for survival.
Survival, you say?
You see B/O (actually, it should be double B/O. Short for Big Boned One), keeps them, and any wildlife within the radius of a mile, wide awake or scurrying for their lives.
I digress . . .
You may be asking, "Why do you call him the big boned one?" Here's why. Being the caring person I am I suggested that double B/O may be slowly adding to his girth.
Example: The other day I told him he had a mosquito biting him on the chin. He swiped at it, and said, "Did I get it?"
I had to tell him, "No it's on the other chin."
His response? "I,m not fat! I am just big boned."
Back to the absolute necessity of the afternoon respite . . .
Let me explain the conditions of a night spent in the cabin. Before I do I would like to get you into a certain frame of mind. Try, if you can, to imagine sleeping between the rails as a locomotive dragging 100 boxcars roars just inches above you. If you have never stood near a moving train -- let me give you another comparison. Imagine trying to get some recuperative sleep lying on a jet engine throttled to full thrust?
Well, when double B/O's head hits the pillow, you have exactly 30 seconds to anchor your self to something -- or be inhaled! The initial vacuum created by double B/O's inhaling rattles windows and whips the curtains. Anything: furniture, wall hangings, even his fellow Bass hunters begin sliding toward that irresistible black hole just below double B/O's nose! For double B/O's comrades, every night is like trying to keep from sliding off the deck of the sinking Titanic!
I will spare you the details of the exhale -- except to say -- the earsplitting sounds increase in decibels -- as double B/O sinks deeper into hibernation.
None of this story is exaggerated. We have actual footage, that has not been digitally enhanced or altered in any way (I will post it when the coast is clear).
You can see where I am going with this . . .
While double B/O sleeps like a baby hippo -- nighttime is a fight for survival for the baby faced one and ole' scrap iron. What awful fate would be theirs if not for the afternoon nap?