The Fox Trapper – Letter 7

To my oft-inebriated love Eliza,

Claudio and I have made the decision – we’re escaping this horrid encampment. I can tell from miniature companions squeals and shakes that he is trying to tell me that something terrible is going to happen to me. I fear the men have grown tired of me and my “antics,” as the captain has called them. One evening about a week ago one of the men caught me yelling “BEWARE! BEWAAAAARE!!” off into the forest and they now believe I’ve gone mad. The camp medic has diagnosed me with an adult case of St Vitus Dance and they have quarantined me to my own personal tent. What fools, the only disease I have is my amorous feelings towards my furry friends. That and my recurring case of Crimpers Pelvis.

I must say, my dear, that I am extremely impressed by the enormous amount of progress you have made in your art. Dare I say it, maybe you should be inebriated ALL the time! The results are in plain sight, you perform much better under the influence. Alas, if only MY expedition had left for the wilderness to get Corned, I would not be in the sad state I am in now. Even being permitted to get corned would help ease the pain of being kept in this stuffy tent.

Claudio and I plan on leaving the encampment tonight under the cover of darkness. I shall send this letter and then prepare for the long journey through the woods. Eliza, it will be a long, arduous journey, and I am fearful of what evils await me on this trail. However, the thought of returning to your arms back home in Windsor is my last glimmer of hope. Embracing you with all my might while enjoying the scent of a large breakfast as well as a bit of licorice emanating from your golden locks. Pressing my lips against yours and becoming slightly inebriated from the whiskey on your breath. Seeing your brother over your shoulder giving me the subtlest of winks. This is what I travel for. THIS IS WHAT I LONG FOR!

If you wish to reply, I shall be headed towards Charleston, West Virginia and will check the post office upon my arrival. Please Eliza, pray for my whiskered ally and I.

Until I am wrapped in your arms once more,

Wilbur

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The Fox Trapper – Letter 5

To my foreverfully astonishingly gorgeous Eliza,

There’s a hole in my heart that goes all the way to Savannah, Georgia. It was merely a pin-prick the early morning I bid you goodbye and left Windsor, but it has now grown to the size of Ol’ Mr. Sleepinberg’s cesspit. This void can be filled by one person and only one person, and that person is you, Eliza. All I would need to fill it is one smile from your mostly-still-intact set of teeth. I’m none too sure how long I can continue on this horrible venture, my body has grown weak from lack of proper nutrition and each day we travel further West in search of more foxes. I’m not sure how long I can stay up so late in order to save my furry friends, I fear very much for their safety.

My sole companion, Claudio, is the one thing here that keeps me sane. I’ve taught him another new trick! Whenever I poke him with what I like to call the “trick stick” and ask him “Who is the strongest, cleverest and handsomest beast in all the land?”, Claudio screams like a Harpy and bounces off the walls of his cage. What I believe he is saying is “ME! ME, YOU DAMNED VILE SCUM! I AM CLAUDIO, THE MIGHTIEST BEAST OF THEM ALL!!!” Mice are such fascinating creatures.

Eliza my dear, I’m sure what you meant to explain to your companions was that your brother Claudio was assisting me in my attempt to learn the sport of golfing. So yes, my hands were certainly on your brothers shaft, as were his own, as he pressed his thick muscular body against my back and demonstrated how to “put ones hips into it.” I’m sorry, but I do not understand people’s fascination with mine and your brother’s relationship. That is just how men who have great amounts of respect for each other act. Please explain this to your ladies so as to not have them think that Claudio and I have ever intentionally felt each others sweet caress.

My Crimpers Pelvis is still very much enflamed and the blood to urine ratio is beginning to lean more towards the blood side. I just do not trust any man here enough to have them tickle my feet for 16 minutes. I suppose I will just hope to urinate all the evil spirits out of my body, which requires a great deal of extra pushing, but I can tell there is significantly more blood leaving my body, so there is still hope.

Eliza, the thought of running away from camp has crossed my mind a number of times. If only I knew the wilderness better, I would leave now and be back in your arms within a matter of months. Alas, I am doomed to sit, wait, and complain until the time has come to return home. If only the captain allowed me to imbibe in our supply of alcohol like you do so frequently. I’m told it is for “men only,” but nowhere on the barrel do I see that label nor would it matter if that label did exist. Sometimes I just do not understand these men I must work with.

Rest assured though, my dear, that when I return I shall wed the hell out of you. I readily anticipate your reply, tell your brother that I long for his arms the width of tree trunks wrapped around me while he assists me in gripping the shaft correctly.

The golf club shaft.

With all of my unbridled love,

Your Wilbur

The Fox Trapper – Letter 1

My beloved Eliza,

I will be the first to admit that this expedition is far different from what I expected it to be. Who would have known from the advertisements that a “fox trapping” expedition meant that after we trapped said foxes, we murdered them and peeled off their skin!? As a strict vegetarian and all-around lover of animals, my stomach again begins to boil merely thinking about it. I assumed (apparently very naively) that we would be capturing these foxes for pets or even as trained entertainment for royalty.

The winter is coming soon and I fear it shall be harsh. Alas, with my poor financial situation and unending desire to wed you, I must push on. This, despite my vomiting every time I view one of the fox carcasses. Making matters worse is the copious amount of jesting the other men have on my behalf. Just yesterday the captain explained that my mother must have mated with a bovine to have made a man who eats nothing but grass and berries (I’d eat a bit more than that if they packed anything besides salted meats). Before I could explain that my father was, in fact, a moderately successful shoe maker the captain delivered a swift jab to my cheek, dislodging three teeth. This trip to the Western frontier has turned into a very difficult situation for myself. I certainly long to be back in Windsor, Connecticut with you.

Oh Eliza, my love, how I long for your touch. Your hair that smells of eggs, your skin as white as said eggs and your eyes as blue as your cheeks that time you choked on a piece of bread. Eliza, my dear, you are like a towering oak tree in the forest and I am a squirrel, hollowing out your insides in order to make room for my nuts and eventually my family.

Should I survive this winter (as well as survive my cohorts) I will return home and wed you like no man has wed a woman before. Then we shall start a family and I will finally pursue my dream of being a harpist in the Scotish Symphony Orchestra. There, we shall be happy.

Foreverfully yours, my love,

Wilbur

P.S. – I found a mouse and he is now my pet. His name is Claudio. He says hello, as well.