A Battle of Wits
The war with 138 has now reached literary proportions


Well 138 escaped yet again. First time through a net, two carpets and a tarp, the second time from a folded box. I was over-confident in my tarp setup. If I had stood there, I could've caught him as he came out, but he took advantage of my arrogance. Keeping him in the pool is becoming a rising obsession, now hovering at the level of Captain Ahab's in Moby Dick. For one thing, the less he swims the longer he will stay in rehab, so it's for his own good. On the other hand, it's really annoying being bested by a bird. And I was so close this time. Tantalizingly close. I wonder if I'll ever manage it before he's released. In any event, I've decided to call him Moby. After all, some days he's a real d...