SPARKS

Ron bought me a pet for my birthday. A perfect pet. A red fox, stuffed and posed, sealed in a huge plexi-glass box.

All of the joy, none of the hassle. My fox stands happily on the mantle, glass-eyed, bushy-tailed, asking for nothing but a good dust-bustering once a season.

Carol, Ron, Jeff, the Cousins, and I all made the trek to Sparks and White Cloud last weekend for the giant flea market/antique fair/people-watching extravaganza held there twice a year.

Jeff and Ron were actually on a quest. Jeff wanted sad, 1940's luggage that gave the impression it had escaped from the Nazis, and Ron wanted a large rug that wouldn't get ruined when zombies bled on it. Not surprisingly, they both found what they were looking for.

The Cousins and Carol. on the other hand, had different goals. They were only interested in buying pieces that weighed 300 lbs. or more apiece. Two cement lions, an enameled dry sink, and a table that feels as if it were made from pieces left over after the Ancients assembled Stonehenge, and our intrepid ladies were good to go. Thank goodness they didn't notice the Special Selection of Really, Really, Really Heavy Things and Assorted Doilies in Section Q, Row 3, or we would never have gotten out of there.

Atticus, I might remind you, is a wire-haired Fox Terrier. A terrier specifically bred to hunt foxes. This brilliant paragon of his breeder's genetic achievements has yet to realize there is A GIANT FOX SITTING UNDER A PLEXI-GLASS BOX NEXT TO HIM IN THE LIVING ROOM!!! He does, however, seem to appreciate the new Bob White skeleton under glass, but that is an entirely different story.

Soon-

Jon (and Ron and Atticus)