Walked out in the pasture yesterday and gave Llewd a pat on the head. While we were thus engaged, Llewd’s misshapen son Purley walked over and proceeded to try and hump his dad.
“Don’t fuck your father, son.” I said.
I may have mentioned this before, but Purley looks to be the sad result of unintentional line breeding. He’s squat and short in the beam, everything miniaturized except his crank. When engorged, he carries it like a belly tank on a WWII fighter plane. He can actually reach his dad’s starfish with the beast, which would have been circus fare in another era, and a source of not inconsiderable supplemental income.