on the alleged duty to save the pelt . . .

yo, Cabin Boy . . . I seem to remember a long-ago Maine grouse camp at Camp Haccamatack by the shores of Lake Spider-gitchee-gumee, where you entertained us (and kept us all awake half the night) attempting to do some kitchen animal control yourself.

I don't recall whether you saved the pelt that night? I do remember a whopping headache from having someone's hunting journal thrown at my noggin.

Ahhh, the memories.

Leave the drilling at home