Jugs

JugsHenry Bivvens was no dummy. Everybody said so. A man doesn't own and run a successful 1000-acre farm, dead-drunk every day by noon, by being stupid. He had seen something moving. At first it was just a dark shadow. But as he got within spitting distance of it, he could distinctly discern substance.The thing, the shape, seemed to sense a change in the earth's rhythm. It did not see Henry Bivvens, nor did it yet smell him. Running the length of its body was a series of small canals, filled wit...