Bombs away. . .

At breakfast a couple of days ago, the troupe of howler monkeys that shows up a few days a week made an appearance right over the rancho where breakfast is served.

One of the ladies got so excited, she leaped up on the rock wall to get a better look. She hopped back down muy rapido about a minute later when one of the monkeys let fly some scat.

She wasn't freaked out, even though the pile missed her by an inch or so. She was talking about how close it came, and then her husband came over and she told him.

"That will teach you to get right under the monkeys," he said.

"You know what? It reminded me of your favorite fishing lure," she replied, dragging him over to see the evidence that had just missed her.

"That doesn't look like the lure I use," he said. "Though the name is pretty close."

The name of the lure? Monkey Puke. Guess it's good for walleyes in the Great Lakes.

Dad drew the line when his son suggested he bag up the scat for a future fishing expedition.