Story Knights

H.G.Abby

H.G. ABBY Presents a teaser trailer: go to this link to watch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DdeUiSUxB0

The Galaxy Books of Challenge

Here’s the first four chapters for your enjoyment . . .

Story Knights

www.hgabby.com

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be considered real. Any resemblance to actual event or person, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

         All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotation in a book review.

First Printing, 2019

First Paperback Edition

ISBN-13: 9781798860656

Dedication

The dedication of this book goes to my husband Korey L. Ward, the inspiration for my hero, along with my family and friends, who believed in me.

I’d like to send a special thanks to my cover designer Olivia, and editor, Patrick Hodges.

Part 1:

The Hero of the Story

The essence of a hero is not measured by his strength, wit, speed, or magic. His heart measures him.

Chapter 1

The glint of a candle flickered in the green, cat’s-eye marbles beneath the shadows of a bed.

Spring. A time of new beginnings.

Gabriel could almost hear the wind and rain whisper “once upon a time” as it pelted the tall arched windows of this room. He was on the hunt for a story that would surely rocket him to the top of the charts as the number one Story Collector of the millennium.

He wanted to win “best disguise of the year” as well. To do that he had to be visible, and interactive in the least possible amount as not to hinder the story’s natural flow.

The dust bunnies tickled his nose. He pinched off a sneeze and his ears popped.

Cats were curious by nature and had nine lives. Should one turn up at the scene of a crime, or get hit by a meteor blast and live, no one would suspect the cat as being an alien spy.

The tips of his ears perked as a soft snoring came from the topside of the bed. He crept out from under, placed both paws alongside, and squinted. The boy’s chin rested on his drawn knees, and the book he’d been reading into the early hours had fallen free of his grasp.

Gabriel sat, locking his twitchy tail around his forepaws. Who was this handsome young man? His eyes traveled over the bookshelf above the small writing desk, piled high with western dime novels. Although dream sequences were often misleading and not the best choice to beginning a story, he found they revealed much about the character. That is, if the Story Collector was clever enough to manipulate the dream.

And so, the spy invaded the dream.

Chapter 2

“Lord Ludwig hates cats,” said sixteen-year-old Chris Steampunk, reaching out a hand to stroke the rich blue-black fur. “But don’t worry, we’ll send word to Roman, my manservant. He is sure to help you escape, before the servants return and tell him. They come during the day and leave before nightfall.”

A tiny black book and pen appeared in the cat’s paws. Adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on the end of his velvety nose, his eyes popped wide and he leaned in close. “And just why is it they leave before nightfall? Are they afraid of something that only appears at night?”

“Castle Steampunk is haunted. A hundred years ago, there was a masquerade ball. My great grandfather’s creation killed the guest–”

The cat dug its claws into his knees. “Any ghost?”

“I haven’t seen any.” He dropped his knees, nearly topping over the furball. “I’ve been awakened by screams and the phantom screech of an instrumental waltz during the night though . . .” He scratched his cheek. “Wait a minute. You’re talking—cats can’t talk.”

The cat’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed not, I say.” It sneezed. “Have you a tissue?” His head wiggled side to side. “No–”A wild wind blew the bed curtains loose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a forest of snow-covered pines. Was he dreaming?

A blue streak of lightning soared above his head and entered the thicket, followed by a thunderous clatter of musical notes.

“He’s here!” Chris unseated the cat in the process of untangling his legs and nightgown from the bedding.

His bare feet hit the cold wood floor, and followed a path of suspended snowflakes.

He halted in his tracks as he spotted the Blue Cowboy, dressed in a long leather trench coat. The wide brim of the Stetson hat concealed his features in shadow. In his hands, he held an ebony guitar.

The cowboy began his tune with a skillful intro of soft bells. The wind amplified the sound with a soothing ease and charmed the senses.

“The song is called Peaceful Journey, Christian Steampunk.”

“You know my name?” Chris clasped both hands over his mouth and took several steps off the path into the bushes. Kenny Rogers, John Wayne, and The Lone Ranger took second, third, and fourth place to this drifter. He was the only one powerful enough to battle the monsters out west.

The cowboy’s pinky finger plucked the thirteenth string, and the rhythm took a ruthless twist. The strings burst to blue flames, while a specter’s hand emerged from the sound hole of the guitar and beckoned with one long extended scythe finger.

The axe has been waiting for you,” said the cowboy. “We both have.”

A thrill ensnared him to forgo his hesitation and move his feet forward. “Me? Why?”

The cowboy raised his head. Low lights of soft blue flames surged through the hollow space of his fleshless skull. “To see if you have what it takes to be a hero. Are you up for the challenge?”Chris came to a jerky halt. “Sure am. Plan on cleaning up the filth out west.”“Then you’ll need the aid of my old friend.” With a wave of his arm, the snow began to fall. “Count the snowflakes as they fall.”

As impossible as the challenge sounded, and the fact that the voice now sounded like Roman’s, Chris wasted no time in asking questions. He stretched out his arms to either side of his body, palms upward, and the snowflakes transformed into mathematically equations of space multiplied by time.

Passing minutes gave way to hours. His limbs began to waver, and his head to nod.

The snow halted. Somewhere in the distant pitch he heard a clock chime with the dead hour 13, a time when the dead could see the living.

Cool hands took hold of his shoulder from behind. “Answer, boy?”

His head rocked back on his neck. He saw the illumination of blue-flamed eyes above him.

“Two billion and fourteen,” he said, barely pushing the whispers past his frozen lips.

“This night, you win the axe.”

Chris yelped with a jerk of his head up. “Really? I counted correctly?”

“You were at least two or three off.” A short burst of laughter rumbled in his chest. “But the challenge wasn’t in counting the snowflakes. You didn’t give up, even when you thought the challenge impossible to win.”

He grew dizzy headed as the ebony steel was place into his hands. The words blue blazes were engraved along the neck. He whooped and hollered, pumping the air with a fist.

“Tell me, boy,” said the cowboy, giving each of the knobs a slight turn to tune them. “Do you know what it takes to be a hero?”

He lifted his chin and pushed back his shoulders. “The essence of a hero is not measured by his strength, wit, speed, or magic. His heart  measures him.”

The cowboy looked him straight in the eye, nodded slowly, and then ruffled the hair on his head, causing it to spike. “I’m proud of you, boy. The heart is the core of a hero, the empowerment for which to reach beyond the limits of endurance. Remember that.”

A slow drawing smile pulled up the slack of his mouth “I will. Always.”

The cowboy tipped his hat and turned away, his coat whipping in the wind. “The fate of the planet depends on you, boy. Be the hero of the story . . .”

Chapter 3

The dream vanished with the dawn of light, pouring in through the tall arched windows of his bedchamber. There was a smell of singed wax in the air, coming from the bedside table where a candle had burned to a stub, and the flame droning in its wax.  The hands of the grandfather clock in the corner were stuck at 13. No tick-tock.

Chris found himself among the twisted bedding, drenched in sweat. He sought out the writing nook and hanging shelf, filled with his favorite dime novels. It had only been a dream.

He heard the barking of the basset hounds coming from outside and kicked aside the bedding, but could only look from his bed because his ankle was shackled to a bedpost. 

The lush meadow was consumed by milkweed, and dancing monarch butterflies with orange wings trimmed in black. Lord Ludwig was preparing for a fox chase with the new neighbors in front of the stables. It looked like rain. Dark clouds. 

Spying the last issue of the Blue Cowboy, laying in the floor by the bed, he stretched over the edge with fingertips, grasped the cover’s edge, and slipped it under his pillow. Cradling an imaginary guitar, he plucked its strings, while humming the peaceful death tune.

Roman entered with an on average breakfast of oatmeal, biscuits, and blackberry jam, and with him the smell of tea-mint pipe tobacco. The gold split tailcoat he wore strained to hold in his round middle as he waddled toward the bed.

“Can’t say your singing is getting better, but that don’t keep you from trying, and trying some more,” he said as he shook a finger in one ear. “Nightmares again, Master Steampunk?”  He placed the serving tray at the foot of the bed and unlocked his shackle.

Chris wiped his brow with a sleeve of his nightgown and got out of bed.  “Actually, no. Had a good dream—well, except for the crazy black cat.” He walked to the basin and poured water into a bowl. “Lord Ludwig is going hunting, I see,” he said between the cold splashes against his face, “with the Bakersfield widow and her son.”

“Your father has given me strict orders to keep you in this room today.” The sound of Roman’s lungs laboring appeared at his side. He took the towel shoved on him. “If you’re thinking about rushing out there and making a fool of yourself–forget it! You’re sixteen, not ten.”

Chris slowly drew the towel down to reveal an arched brow. “Did he?”

“Stop that at once, you young pup! I’ll not play these games today!” His whole body shook with each word, and he dabbed at his brow with his sleeve. “If your father ever finds out about the things you put me up to helping you do—like hiding all the outlawed junk you’ve collected in the basement.”

“What about the things you put me up to?” said Chris, wiggling his brow as he wrapped the towel around his neck. “Like helping you cheat at cards?”

He snapped a faded blue eye closed. “Know when to hold, when to fold, and when to cheat a cheater!” He jabbed the end of a corncob pipe into his toothless gums.

Chris cupped an ear with his hand and bent it forward. “Words of wisdom from an old dog to a young pup, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Damn straight—beats me every time.” He puffed on the stem of the pipe and blew smoke rings in the air. “Spring is here, and that means courtship time in New Coal Town. That widow Bakersfield wants to visit you tonight after dinner. I urge you to be on your tiptop behavior in her presence. Lord Ludwig wants to assure her you’re tame.”

“So, I shouldn’t do anything like this?” He crossed his eyes, let his tongue hang out, and twisted his face as if he had lost his mind.

Roman pursed his lips.

“Guess not,” said Chris.  Looking at his reflection above the water basin, he spiked his hair with his hands. “I won the Blue Cowboy’s guitar in that dream last night. And get this: his voice sounded just like yours.”

“Blue Cowboy?” said Roman, retrieving tan breaches and white shirt from a wardrobe in the corner. “Like me?”

Chris walked to the bookshelf and plucked out the first issue of the Blue Cowboy. Thumbing through it to find a picture, he said over his shoulder, “I know he’s a made-up hero, but one day I’m going to go out west and battle the monsters just like him.”

“Hold up,” said Roman with a hand in the air as he placed his clothing on the back of a chair. “It’s coming to me now, the creepy cowpoke that battles the monsters with a contraption called a guitar and flashes of blue light.” 

Chris pointed out the spiky-haired cowboy, wearing a long leather trench coat and wielding an ebony guitar.  “He got caught in a storm, the lightning struck him, spiking up his hair like that.” The Blue Cowboy stood in the midst of battle, the specter’s hand lashed out at the monsters with long scythe fingers, their eyes like soulless pits of coal.

“Don’t pretend. You know these stories as well as I do,” said Chris, replacing the book in the shelf. “You read them when you think I’m asleep, and you never forget a detail.”

Roman folded his arms over his potbelly and gave a short bow. “Maybe I do’s, and maybe I dont’s.” He left the room.

Chris’s brow shot up as he heard the sound of a key in the lock.

Chapter 4

Eighteen-year-old Heroine Rosemary licked her tingling lips as she made it beneath the entrench archway of the solitary tower. Steampunk Castle had been reopened. There were questions she needed answers to, and a puzzle, she had to solve.

Leaning against the wall to catch her breath, she flung her hood back and wrung out the wet mass of her red hair. The old abbey was built nearly a century ago, but now lay in wood splintered ruins. The cemetery, adjacent to the abbey and courtyard, was surrounded by the tangled branches of yew trees.

The superstitious people of New Coal Town believed the shadows of the yew trees kept the dead bound inside their pine boxes. It was a myth. The roots of the trees imbibed the poisonous gases from the dead’s rotting flesh. Thus were the unabsorbed gases the people saw over bogs and marshes, and miss took for ghost or apparitions. 

With a last glance over her shoulder to ensure she hadn’t been followed, she made her way up the crumbling staircase of the tower. This backwoods town was still haunted by the tale of the bloody masquerade ball. Their fears of the dead rising from the grave originated from the long-dead Dr. Richard Steampunk, who robbed graves for parts to make his monstrous creations.

Dr. Steampunk was described as a mild-mannered man from old wealth, widowed after his young wife died in childbirth with daughter Edwina. His son Heathcliff was a charitable man to the poor, and an inventor.

The family harbored a dark secret: Heathcliff was one of the Dr.’s creations. This fact was revealed the night of the masquerade ball. The morning after, Heathcliff had disappeared and was  blamed for the lives of over two hundred guests,  thirteen of whom  were part of the town’s council, and his own father, Dr. Steampunk.

Daughter Edwina, a youth of eleven, had hidden beneath a table. She never spoke again of the horrors she witnessed. 

Heroine set aside her damp cloak and mud-caked boots. Her wool shirt and leggings were thick enough to ward off the chill in the air. Giving herself a quick braid, she braced her back against the cracked bell and drew her knees into her chest.

All the guests were missing various body parts. What had happened to them? And how had one creature, man or monster, accomplished it all on his own and vanished into nothingness?

She sought out the abbey days ago as a place no one would think of looking for the living, and cut a box in the worn floorboard to hide her forbidding art.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for what awaited inside.  She found it easy enough to remove the pencil, but it was when she removed the book that she felt her stomach knot. A half zombie’s face marked the cover. Its pages were as white flesh, a soulless, hollow vessel.

As a child, she suffered from the worst overactive imagination possible. If she were to  tell anyone  just a fraction of the things she saw when looking up at the constellation of spinning star-clocks, TV, electric lights, computers, cellphones, airplanes, rocket ships, an inky ocean adrift with sea like creatures, she would surely be locked away and labeled mentally ill. It wasn’t the fault of the planet. Their knowledge was limited. Her lips smirked at her own ounce of smugness.  A writer’s imagination was limitless. 

A buzz tickled her ear, and she jumped. The bell hit the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed her head as her eardrums nearly popped from the ringing.

A button smile pinched her lips. It was only a little black cat on her shoulder. It had been five years since she’d seen Omniscient, as she had named him back then.  Even if it wasn’t the same one, she believed cats were story collectors, all knowing, all seeing.

She patted his head. Odd that it was dry. “Hello, my friend. Have any good stories to swap?”

Seemly ignoring the question, he chose that moment to give himself a bath. Or, was he drawing attention to what looked like candle wax on his coat?

“That’s okay. Bet you think I’ve returned home for the swirl of the Season, right?” Her nose crinkled with the thought of being one of those prissy dolled up ninnies in oversized hooped ball gowns and laced-up corsets on the market like a prized turkey. “Oh, no, not me.” She jabbed herself in the chest with a thumb. “I’m here to do research for a new story. The Season is just a diversion to move about. If you care to stick around for a while, I’ll share the story with you.”

She parted the book down the middle in her lap, skipping over the pages stuck with some mysterious pink goo. “There is an abandoned mining town beyond the cemetery, Old Coal Town. Top the hill and you’ll see a rickety line of buildings. It’s got real spook charm. Used to play there as a kid.”

His bath finished, the cat wrapped his tail around the back of her neck and turned his attention to the book and pencil in her hands.

“Give me an insight into the monster’s heart,” she said, invoking the swirl of green pools in the center of her eyes. “A lead to follow.”

She was drawn by the blinding luminosity of the blank page, her imagination submerged in a sea of frequency, the static of white noise. She drew a pair of doors, held her breath, and watched as they opened outward.

Shrill screams rent the air and an instrumental waltz began playing. A man appeared beneath the archway wearing a gray tailored suit to fit his tall, broad-shouldered frame. He had a zigzag pattern of scars across his temple, a chiseled jaw, a broad nose, and a full lower lip. His green eyes cast an ominous allure.

“Father, are you out here?” he shouted. “The devil has come for our souls. He claims it’s harvesting time.”  The animation vanished, returning to the sketch of the double doors. 

“Is that it?” said Heroine. “Surely not?” 

The wind danced with the pages, stirring up the surrounding dust and cobwebs. She stumbled backward against the bell as the huge man’s face ascended in the middle. If the bell made a sound, she couldn’t hear it over the sound of his voice. “I’m not a monster . . . I’m a man.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she fell into the green globs of his eyes. So much pain.

The face began to fade.    

“Wait,” said Heroine, “are you Heathcliff Steampunk?”

The sound of dogs barking caused her to look away for a moment, just long enough for the face to vanish altogether.

She slapped her thigh.

She peeked out the gaps in the wood planks. The rain had lessened to a mist of vapor. An orange fox burst from the bushes, through the cemetery and into a hole at the base of the hillside. A group of rabbeted short-legged, black and white hounds was hot on its trail. Reaching the entrance to the den, they pawed at the ground.

Relieved that she hadn’t been discovered, she allowed herself to laugh, and curl her spine.

She returned the book and pencil to the spot beneath the floorboards, gathered her clothes, and made her way down the stairs of the bell tower.  She had just reached the bottom when she saw a lone rider on a black pony.

Too late to hide.  The boy had seen her. He was pale and frail, with piercing blue eyes beneath a stack of blond spikes. He wore a royal blue cloak, tan breeches and shiny black boots.

“Good evening—” she called out. 

The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, leaving him to slouch forward in his saddle.  She feared he would fall off. He was a hundred yards away, she judged. She had to try to save him.

She took a deep breath, preparing to kick it into high gear, when other riders broke through the trees. Chewing a knuckle, she fled back up the stairs.

Hey guys and girls–h.g.abby here. If you like the story so far, please leave me a comment. This book can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks for reading.

187,693 thoughts on “Story Knights”

  4. Медицинский юрист – это специалист, который помогает пациентам и медицинским учреждениям разобраться в сложных юридических вопросах, связанных с предоставлением медицинских услуг. Его консультация особенно актуальна в случаях, когда возникают споры о качестве оказанных услуг, неудачных медицинских процедурах или правомерности действий врачей и медперсонала. Обращение к такому профессионалу может стать ключевым моментом для защиты прав пострадавшего, ведь медицинский юрист обладает необходимыми знаниями как в области медицины, так и права, что позволяет ему тщательно анализировать каждую ситуацию. Если вы столкнулись с проблемой, касающейся медицинских услуг, стоит рассмотреть вариант получения консультации медицинского юриста, который сможет не только объяснить ваши права, но и предложить пути их защиты. Этот специалист поможет подготовить необходимые документы, а также представит ваши интересы в суде, если дело дойдет до судебного разбирательства. Консультация медицинского юриста также может быть полезна для медицинских учреждений, которые сталкиваются с юридическими претензиями от пациентов, позволяя избежать негативных последствий и минимизировать риски. Важно понимать, что правильный подход к медицинским правовым вопросам может существенно повлиять на исход дела, и консультация медицинского юриста – это первый шаг к защите ваших интересов и обеспечению справедливости.

    Если у вас возникли трудности в медицинском споре, то рекомендую обратиться к медицинскому юристу, чтобы избежать возможных проблем и защитить свои права.

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  8. Forget tiny chihuahuas peeping out of handbags à la Paris Hilton, or Taylor
    Swift with her adorably grumpy looking Scottish Fold cats who have become
    celebrities in their own right. 

    When it comes to capturing my heart with a cuddly
    creature, it’s the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger, 75, who’s reinvented himself as the internet’s favourite granddad with his wholesome life with a
    menagerie of animals, who has won me over.

    The jewel in the crown of his ever-growing brood of beasts
    is Schnelly the pig, who joined the family in April last year,
    making the star the latest in a long list of celebrities to realise the joys
    of a porky pal – along with Ariana Grande, Miley Cyrus and the Beckhams. 

    I’m completely smitten with the cuteness of pet pigs. I lose hours scrolling through Instagram,
    looking at pictures of furry little piglets with pretty pink
    snouts.

    There are 255,000 Insta posts with the hashtag #petpig and I’ve probably
    looked at all of them. Then there’s the 286,000 posts hashtagged #micropig and I’d hazard a guess
    that I’ve seen all of those too.

    So I’m rather excited to discover that there’s a pig farm less than an hour from central London, where
    I can find out what it’s really like to have a porcine pet.

    While celebrities might get away with turning up to photoshoots, TV appearances and fancy restaurants
    with all manner of furry creatures, will I get the same reception if I take a pig for a stroll
    down the high street?

    Samantha Rea from London strolling down the high street in Old Amersham with Astrid,
    a 16 month old micro pig

    The pair stopped off at The Griffin, a private members
    club, bistro and bakery, for some refreshments after a
    trot down the high street 

    Samantha Rea spent time at the Kew Little Pig Farm in Amersham,
    Buckinghamshire to learn how to muck out and care for pigs 

    Learning how to feed hay to the pigs did make Samantha question whether it’s easier to
    stick with a dog or cat as a pet 

    I’m hoping the Kew Little Pigs Farm will help me find out.
    It specialises in miniature pigs, which pig lovers can buy or ‘adopt’ to
    visit on the farm.

    Then there are the day trips. The Piggy Pet
    & Play package lets visitors ‘pet, brush, groom, watch
    and play with the pigs.’ The Pig Enthusiast package
    can include putting sun cream on the pigs,
    and the Comprehensive Guide to Pig Keeping teaches you
    everything you need to know before buying your own micro pig.

    Clearly I must go there!

    And so I head to Amersham, in Buckinghamshire, where Kew Little Pigs Farm is based.

    When I arrive, owner Olivia Mikhail looks slightly concerned
    at the sight of my Converse trainers and cropped jeans, a combination that will surely result in splattered
    shins.

    However, Olivia has no idea just how prepared I actually am, because I have packed not only knee high wellies for my
    time on the farm, but also my designer heels, for my glimpse into
    what life’s like as a pig-owning celebrity.

    Arnold Schwarzenegger with Schnelly the pig, who joined
    his menagerie of pets in April last year

    Ariane Grande and Pete Davidson adopted Piggy Smallz during their short-lived romance in 2018

    Comedian John Bishop was left devastated when his rescue pig Milo passed away last year,
    describing him as the ‘heartbeat’ of the
    family

    Paris Hilton started the chihuahuas in handbags craze,
    and is also the proud owner of Princess Piglette

    George Clooney, Paris Hilton, Miley Cyrus, Jonathan Ross,
    Charlotte Church and even the Beckhams have all kept pigs as pets over the past decade
    or so, while more recently Ariane Grande and Pete Davidson adopted Piggy Smallz during
    their short-lived romance. 

    Comedian John Bishop gave rescue pig Milo a home for
    more than a decade and was devastated when the pet passed
    away, saying he was the ‘heartbeat’ of the family.

    They’re as much a celeb accessory as oversized sunglasses – which is why I’ve
    brought those with me too.

    But first things first. Before I spend an afternoon taking
    a petite pig for a stroll, I sit down with Olivia in the Kew Little Pigs cafe, to complete the theory side
    of the Comprehensive Guide to Pig Keeping.

    It turns out there is quite a lot of admin involved in owning a pig, alongside a rule book thicker than Harry Potter. 

    Who knew that you needed a license to walk a pig? Who would
    imagine that you can’t feed pigs your kitchen leftovers?
    It used to be common practice, but has been banned because of the risk
    of diseases such as African swine flu and foot and mouth disease that can be
    spread by consuming contaminated pork products. 

    Who can fathom having to fill out a form to
    drive your pig from one place to another – again for disease control reasons? 

    After all the admin and mucking out, Samantha was delighted to move on to the fun part –
    cuddles with Astrid 

    Samantha found that mucking out the pig pen was actually a lot more civilised than picking up poo on a
    dog walk 

    Samantha came armed with wellies for her day at the farm,
    but made sure to keep it glamorous 

    After swapping her flimsy trainers for wellies, Samantha felt equipped to tackle her day on the farm 

    And who would guess that pigs have to have their own house?

    I mean, it’s only got to be about the size of shed, but it’s actually
    a law to uphold welfare standards.

    I suppose none of this is an issue for celebrities who have people
    to do paperwork for them – not to mention acres of space – but to me it
    seems insurmountable.

    Olivia senses that my dreams are crushed and attempts to reassure me:
    ‘It’s really not that much paperwork. Look, filling in this form would take two minutes.’ 

    Moving on from the theory, we head outside for the practical
    part of the course. Here, in large pens, are lots of little pigs which
    are super cute, so this makes me happy.

    I am given a rake to claw the pig poo into a dustpan. Both the rake and the dustpan have long handles and I like the
    distance this creates. It is certainly more civilised than picking up poo in a
    flimsy plastic bag on a dog walk. 

    Clearing away pig excrement with proper equipment which allows
    you to maintain a civilised, and sanitary, distance
    makes me wonder if – despite the paperwork – pigs might just trump dogs.

    Samantha was worried she might attract stares walking Astrid through town, but nobody batted an eyelid 

    Samantha treated herself to a hot chocolate while Astrid
    enjoyed some pig treats 

    Samantha swapped her wellington boots for high heels to glam up to take her pet pig down to the
    town centre for lunch

    Taking a pig out for a walk is trickier than it looks, and a lot of treats are required to keep
    things on track 

    Next, Olivia asks if I would like to feed the pigs. Yes of course!

    She hands me some hay that’s stuffed inside what’s basically a large fishnet stocking, the size of
    Santa’s sack. The hay sticks out of all the
    holes, and it’s my job to hang up the sack in the pig pen,
    so the pigs can eat from it.

    This sounds easy. Only it’s not. ‘NOT THERE!
    NO! IT’S GOT TO BE HIGHER! TIE IT ROUND THE POST! NO!
    NOT LIKE THAT! NO!’

    I feel like a failing contestant on The Crystal Maze, only this is worse because I’m now surrounded by hungry pigs
    and I cannot see a panic button.

    I swear there was something on Netflix where murdered bodies were dumped in a pig pen,
    to be eaten by the pigs. Or maybe the bodies were eaten alive.
    This definitely happens all the time, according to TV, and now
    I don’t even know which is worse, the prospect of being
    felled by pigs eating through my ankles, or the pressure to
    hang the hay correctly.

    It is like my challenge on The Crystal Maze has been especially devised to amuse the
    inhabitants of hell.

    I find myself grateful to make it out of the pig pen alive.
    Surely I get to do celebrity stuff now?

    Celebrities’ pigs are as stylish as their owners,
    so I’ve sourced designer outfits for my trottered chums.

    I’d initially looked at diamond chokers by Dior, because what pig wouldn’t
    want a diamond collar? But apparently pigs are happier in harnesses, which fit around
    the body, not just the neck.

    I hunt for a harness that an A-lister might pick for their pig, and I am delighted to discover a pink
    leopard print harness with a matching lead. 

    It is by Urban Pup, a pet fashion brand whose website I’ve now spent more time on than all the
    other websites in my search history.

    There’s the zebra print, the cheetah print, the pink argyle;
    the florals, the tartans, and the hearts. There’s the
    range inspired by Legally Blonde and the pet carrier that resembles a pink Chanel handbag.

    Then there are the socks…

    I turn up at the farm with more outfits for the pigs than I have for
    myself. I guess this is what it’s like being a pig parent: #SELFLESS

    I am introduced to Astrid, a 16 month old micro piglet who’ll fulfill my dreams of walking a pig.
    I show Olivia all the outfits I’ve brought from Urban Pup and she picks out
    a pink tartan harness with a matching lead.

    I want to dress up all the pigs but Olivia says no. That’s OK.
    There is probably some law about only one pig at a time looking this stunning.

    When Astrid and I are dressed, we head into Old Amersham.
    It’s a pretty market town in the Chilterns with cobbled streets and quaint white buildings with beams.

    So how will locals feel about a pig on a lead?

    I imagine I may be sternly spoken to by a member of the Women’s
    Institute. However, it turns out that Old Amersham is perfectly au
    fait with celebrity antics, given that Poirot, Midsomer Murders and
    Four Weddings and a Funeral have all been filmed there.

    On my pig keeping course I have learnt that pigs never poo where they eat, sleep or socialise, because they’re very clean,
    so from day one, without any training, a pig will go outside
    to poo.

    I am surprised then, as I arrive in Old Amersham, to find
    that Astrid has done her business in her carry box. I try not to think about this, as I hold her lead.

    Our first stop is the Amersham Museum. I’m not a massive fan of walking
    around looking at things, but I hear the museum homes a Tudor dining table that visitors
    are welcome to sit at. It is about lunchtime,
    so I’m hopeful I’ll be served a Tudor banquet. I quite fancy a tankard of wine and a bit of wild boar.

    Unfortunately, Astrid does not, and so, despite being
    welcomed by museum director Briony, we leave pretty much as soon as we arrive.

    We go for a stroll instead, but I have to scatter pig food pellets to
    coax Astrid along the pavement. I guess celebrities get their assistants to walk ahead,
    trailing treats to entice the pet pigs in the right direction. 

    Hard at work: Writer Samantha Rea tried the Comprehensive Guide
    to Pig Keeping, which  teaches you everything you need to know before buying
    your own micro pig

    However, doing it without an assistant, I find myself thinking that it’s definitely easier to
    walk a dog.

    Celebrity life is about lounging in luxurious surroundings, so Astrid and I head to The Griffin, a private members club, bistro and
    bakery, that’s pretty much the Soho House of Amersham.

    In the beamed building that dates back to the
    17th century, there are gorgeous leather sofas and cosy cushions.
    However, I have learnt on my pig keeping course that pigs are
    happiest alfresco, so Astrid and I take a seat on the astro-turf terrace,
    beneath a pretty parasol that wouldn’t be out of place in a Cotswolds
    shoot for Tatler.

    It is here, as we relax like A-listers, that Astrid and I are at
    our happiest. As I sip a coffee and eye-up a
    chocolate brownie (I’m being a celebrity, remember, I don’t actually eat these things), Astrid puts her trotters up on the seat
    beside me and enjoys a few pig food pellets.

    Clearly this is our natural environment, so it’s probably just a matter
    of time before Astrid is snapped up by a celebrity to live life first class. 

    But for now, Astrid must mooch back to the mud, and I must head
    home to wash pig poo off my wellies.

    I am chuffed to bits to have spent an afternoon with Astrid, but as I
    think it all over, on the train back to Marylebone, I
    know that I’ll never keep a pig as a pet. 

    Aside from all the legal red tape, my lack of space
    in London, and the trickiness of trying to take a pig for a walk,
    there’s always the fear that the micro pig might turn out to be not so tiny
    after all. 

    I’ve seen headlines about 4 ounce “teacup” pigs growing
    bigger than a bear, and frankly I find it terrifying.
    So I’ll leave the pet pigs to the celebrities. 

    LondonParis Hilton

    Reply

  11. 闇の世界に住み、星一番のブタ長者と言われていた。 しかしそれは「宇宙一の煩悩の持ち主」の力が必要で、コンピューターによって選ばれた諸星あたるを誘拐し、それを手に入れようとする。要件に該当する場合は「高額医療・要介護世帯では家計破綻的支払は17％程度の世帯に見られることを確認した。 ウパの策略でラムの角が抜けたのを見計らって闇の世界にラムを拉致。闇の世界の住人。 “キャラクター｜Pうる星やつら～ラムのLoveSong～”.
    ニューギン. 2024年5月24日閲覧。

    Reply

  13. Обращение к юристу по вопросам раздела имущества является важным шагом при решении любых споров, связанных с совместно нажитым добром. Правильная консультация юриста по разделу имущества стоимость которой варьируется в зависимости от сложности дела, позволяет не только избежать юридических ошибок, но и значительно ускоряет процесс. Часто люди не осознают, что без грамотного сопровождения можно потерять не только время, но и значительные активы. Специалист поможет разобраться в нюансах раздела, оценить стоимость имущества и выбрать оптимальную стратегию для защиты интересов клиента, так как консультация юриста по разделу имущества стоимость которой часто оказывается более оправданной в сравнении с возможными потерями, дает четкое представление о возможных последствиях. Компетентный юрист проанализирует все аспекты дела, предложит альтернативные пути решения споров, что, несомненно, убережет вас от ненужных волнений и затрат. Многие недооценивают важность грамотной юридической помощи, считая, что смогут решить все вопросы самостоятельно, однако консультировавшись с профессионалом, можно значительно повысить шансы на положительный исход. Таким образом, своевременная и квалифицированная помощь юриста по разделу имущества не только экономит время и деньги, но и обеспечивает более безопасный путь к справедливому разрешению дел, что подчеркивает значимость вопроса о консультация юриста по разделу имущества стоимость которой следует заранее уточнять.

    Рекомендую обратиться за профессиональной консультацией к юристу по разделу имущества, чтобы четко понимать возможные действия в конкретной ситуации, это существенно увеличит шансы на успешное разрешение вопроса.

    Reply

  14. ジェームズの『純粋経験論』は日本の西田幾多郎の初期西田哲学（『善の研究』）に大きな影響を与えている。英米文学科が改組する英米文学専修はアメリカ文学の研究では「草分け的存在」を自負しており、指導教員・植民地時代においては清教徒が多く入植したためピューリタニズムの伝統が強く、また建国に際してジョン・

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  19. 免責ゼロで契約することも可能です。免責ゼロにして、全額補償してもらう契約も可能です。 ちなみに初回免責ゼロにすることが可能で、この場合さらに保険料は高くなります。 メタバース空間は3DCGで構築できるからこそ、現実では不可能な演出も可能になります。 ただし事故を起こした場合、自己負担分が大きくなるので注意が必要です。大切な方への手土産に、自分へのご褒美に。 では、免責分はどのように支払うのか、疑問に思う方もいるかもしれません。高円宮妃久子さまと長女承子さまがヨルダンのフセイン皇太子の結婚式に参列するため、今月末～６月３日の日程で同国を公式訪問されることが、９日の閣議で了解された。

    Reply

  21. 希望の担任教師。希望の裁判を取り上げようとし、傍聴席に座っていた。依頼の報酬などで他人から金を取る際には、この世界で非常に高価な金貨を要求することが多い。 2005年には、テロ対策を目的に連邦情報機関および連邦政府が大統領令に基づき、具体的な法令的根拠・ この目的に基づき、高齢者の疾病、負傷又は死亡に関して必要な給付を行うものとする（第47条）。

    Reply

  22. На сайте https://t.me/gorbushkamoscow вы сможете приобрести качественную, надежную и оригинальную электронику, а также бытовую технику, которая подарит приятные и положительные эмоции от использования. Вся техника представлена исключительно проверенными, надежными брендами, которые положительно себя показали. Есть возможность приобрести все, что нужно и в неограниченном количестве. Вся техника наделена долгим сроком службы, она ремонтопригодна. Регулярное обновление ассортимента.

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  25. 意味については特に問題ないですね。 こちらも意味については特に問題ないでしょう。 しかし、法律業界には一部独特の言い回しがあったりして、これを頭に入れておかないと条文の意味を誤解したり誤解させたりすることになりかねません。 そこで、今回はこの独特の言い回し、すなわち法令用語の使い方について基本的な点をおさらいします。 1947年（昭和22年）- 朝日生命保険相互会社として相互会社に改組し、商号変更。日本水（やまとみず）」が名水百選、1995年（平成7年）には国土庁（現在の国土交通省）から町全域が水の郷百選、林野庁からは「日本水の森」が水源の森百選、2006年（平成18年）には鉢形城が財団法人日本城郭協会から日本100名城の認定を受けているなど、豊かな自然と歴史を有する町でもある。

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  36. Australian politicians ɑre almost alwɑys opting to fly ԝith Qantas оn taxpayer-funded trips, dｅѕpite Virgin offering cheaper tickets.

    Federal MPs flew ᴡith tһe national carrier foｒ 80 per cent of
    worҝ trips ⅼast yｅaг ⅾespite it not ɑlways Ьeing the cheapest route, aⅽcording
    tοo travel data pгovided to tһe government.

    While politicians аnd their staffers are required tо
    book thｅ cheapest flight, іt also has
    to be thе mst efficient, ԝith Qantas offering the mⲟst routes Ьetween major cities.

    MPs ɑｒе banned fｒom accrhing frequent flyer рoints
    on taxpayer-funded trips like ordinary Aussies сan, but thеy
    can can receive lifetime status credits, ѡhich
    аllows access tߋ airport lounges ɑnd flight upgrades.

    ‘How elѕe can one explain tһe extraordinary dominance of Qantas in securing bookings Ƅy parliamentarians аnd tһeir staff?’ Myriam Robin wrote іn an opinion piece fⲟr the Australian Financial Review.

    ‘Τhere’s notһing like accruing status credits ⲟn ѕomeone eⅼse’s dime.’

    Transport Minister Catherine King һаs sіnce committed to a review of flight bookings by government officials ԝhich will be conducted Ƅy the
    Department of Finance thjis ｙear, despite theгe Ƅeing
    juѕt twⲟ months left of 2024.

    Politicians’ preference fⲟr Qantas may also be
    put dowqn tⲟ the airline’s exclusive invite-οnly ‘Chairman’s Lounge’.

    Australian politicians ɑге almost always opting tօ fly ԝith Qantas
    on taxpayer-funded trips, ⅾespite Virgin offering cheaper tickets.
    (pictured іs Anthony Albanese, witһ former Qantas boss Alan Joyce,
    aand fiancee Jodfie Haydon)

    Ꮢead Morе

    EXCLUSIVE

    Tһe Flying Kanga-RORT – ѡhy ʏօu’гe footing tһе ƅill
    as airlines wine and dine pollies in VIP club

    Daily Maail Australia іn August revealed that nnearly every single federal politician іn the country
    has accepted free membership оf the club.

    Qantas ɑnd the Albanese government hɑѵe both denied thｅ
    airline ejoys аny disproportionate level of influenc οver the country’s political classes.

    А Daily Mail Australia audit օf the memƅers’ interest regksters –
    іn both the Houyse of Representatives аnd tthe Senate – revealed аlmost 93 per
    cеnt of tһe nation’s leaders haѵe been ‘gifted’ membership to tһe lavish, аll-inclusive lounge.

    The high profile ranks of government gittees
    іnclude Ρrime Mimister Anthonhy Albanese аs wеll аs every memƄer
    of hiѕ 22-person Cabinet, һіs seven-person Outer Ministry аnd alⅼ 12 assistant
    ministers.

    Whilpe mօst politicians declared theiг Qantas’ pricileges ɑs a ‘gift’, Labor
    MP Marion Scrymgour listed һeг membership as һer ‘Chairman Lounge entitlement’.

    Daily Mail Australia іn Aᥙgust revealed tyat neаrly eѵery single federal politician іn the country һas accepted free membership օf Qantas’ exclusive Chairman’ѕ Lounge.

    Αnd it’s not just politicians on thе tаke, with more than 60 MPs
    – including Marles, Chalmers, King, Ᏼill Shorten, Zali Steggall аnd Tanya Plibersek – disclosing tһeir spouses һave aⅼso bеen granted unfettered, independdnt access
    tto Qantas’ luxurious mеmbers onlу lounge.

    Often touted as ‘the most exclusive club іn the country’,
    membership tо the Chairman’s Lounge has long been veiled in secrecy.

    Even the entrances to eаch of tһе country’s six opulent VIP сlubs – in Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, Canberra аnd Perth
    airports – ɑre suitably discreet.

    Ꭲhough, οnce insіdе, thе designer lounges are іmmediately morе ostentatious, ᴡith free à ⅼa carte fіne dining, table service, a decadent selection оf wines and Champagne ɑnd a discreet
    army оf dedicated lounge attendants.

    Membership tօ the club is ‘priceless’ – it cannot bе bought foг any аmount of money nor ߋbtained vіa any amount of frequent flyers ⲣoints.

    Ӏnstead, eaϲh membеr іѕ hand-picked aand approved by tһe company’ѕ chief executive аnd chairman.

    Qantas

    Check oout my homeрage: เมรุไกร หมายถึง

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  47. ดอกไม้เป็นสิ่งที่สร้างความสุขและความประทับใจได้เสมอ
    โชคดีที่ปัจจุบันมีร้านดอกไม้ใกล้ฉันมากมายที่ให้บริการหลากหลาย ดอกไม้ตกแต่งงานแต่งงาน ตอบโจทย์ทุกความต้องการอย่างลงตัว
    หากคุณกำลังมองหาดอกไม้สวยๆ ในราคาที่คุ้มค่า ลองดูร้านใกล้บ้านที่มีบริการจัดส่งด่วน คุณมีคำแนะนำสำหรับร้านดอกไม้ใกล้ฉันไหม?
    ร้านดอกไม้วันเกิดใกล้ฉัน

    Reply

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