Three days ago someone told something they sure ought to go check on Harold he looks dead. Sunday morning, my husband on the phone with me said that Harold sure looks dead. But Horace didn't know that someone had already told someone to check on Harold. By Sunday afternoon, someone (which one?) finally did check on Harold and it comes to find out he was dead and had only been cooking in the Georgia sun for two and one half days or more.
You'd think that'd be the end of the story, but you'd be wrong. Next came deciding what farm vehicle would be appropriate to haul Harold out to the woods - or the swamp.
Though Harold had recently lost weight, in his hayday (?), he'd weighed four or five hundred pounds. Either four or five. He was so big, the one time he got stuck under a house.
But on this day, even with the loss, Harold didn't fit into the bucket loader. How he finally did go off is the other story.