Old Rusty went to heaven yesterday. A man couldn’t have asked for a better giant bee companion.
It wasn’t just his honey-making superpowers. That paid the bills, but he was also a real sweety—the way he liked getting scratched behind the wings and how he got all excited about the annual apiary box social.
I can see him now on one of his grizzly hunting trips. He wouldn’t kill ‘em; just play with them a while. Nobody could make a grizzly wet itself in terror as fast as Rusty.
Somehow, a dog just isn’t going to cut it anymore.