Sick Puppy [antikvár]

On the morning of April 24, an hour past dawn, a man named Palmer Stoat shot a rare African black rhinoceros. He fired from a distance of thirteen yards and used a Winchester .458, which knocked him fiat on his back. The rhinoceros wheeled, as if to charge, before snorting twice and sagging to its knees. Its head came to rest under a spread of palmettos. Palmer Stoat instructed his guide, a former feed salesman named Durgess, to unpack the camera. "Let's first make sure she's dead," Durgess said. "Are you kidding? You see that shot?" Durgess took the Winchester from his client. He approached the lifeless mass and poked it in the ramp with the rifle barrel. Stoat grinned as he dusted off his mail-order khakis. "Hey, Bungalow Bili, look what I killed!" While Durgess assembled the videó equipment, Stoat inspected his newest trophy, which had cost him thirty thousand dollars, not including ammo and gratuities.