So here’s what happened:
Davey H was minding his own business after dutifully discharging Brucemeister obligations, and prepared to exit the property in due course.
As cold weather prevailed and kindling was running short at Davey H’s never-fashionable pad, it seemed prudent to bring some home.
Espying a pile of thin logs that had been sitting 2 years, Davey H sank his saw teeth into it and commenced to load the resultant properly sectioned logs into his trusty rusty station wagon.
During one such cutting pass, the poodle in Davey H’s backseat started going ape-shit, precipitating an atmosphere of fear.