I could never make out why people are so fond of killing themselves in pursuit of mare pleasure. Make a story with this line. - 30 August 2014 - Blog - Shawon Notes
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I could never make out why people are so fond of killing themselves in pursuit of mare pleasure. Make a story with this line.

Men hunt animals for a great many causes. Sometimes for food, for medicine or as a pest control or sometimes for mare pleasure. In every cases either the hunter or the hunted suffers greatly. Such an event I am relating here.

Mr. Robertson is my neighbour. He is the owner of woodland valley. He doesn’t live in the neighbourhood. He only comes in winter. When the fox, rabbit and some other wild animals come out in search of food in great number and the migratory birds take refuge in the lake. He comes with his full band – horsemen, gunmen, helper and hounds. It’s really a grand approach.

Every morning just before the dawn, they approach the lake that early horses there comes a lot of migratory bird who dive and catch fish in the warm water. He will kill some birds for his breakfast. And then he will wait for appearance of a fox and the horsemen will make a run and then the chase starts. And this chase proves to be dangerous for them as in every year one or two of his men and animals get injury. The tragic accident of a boy last year is worth mentioning.

His name was Willi. He was the younger child of farmer Smith. He joined Mr. Robertson band for hunting for that season. Though he was a little boy of thirteen, he was a skilled cowboy.

A fat big reddish fox came into view of the hunters. They decided to chase it. At a certain moment, Willi chased it before anybody else. He got a speed like torpedo. A hue and cry was heard. I saw that Willi was flying off his horse pack and fall in a pile of bamboo sticks and tweaks at a corner of a field.

When Willy galloped on, a doubt struck him. And he was captured in his thought which way he should approach the fox himself. There was a newly mad soft clay on which grasses were lid to same them from erosion from certain rain.

The four legs of the horse sank on the soft mud and topple tomb breaking his neck and legs together. It was drowning for life. But poor Willy couldn’t even shrike because the sharp end points of the bamboo which were piled there, pierced through his chest. The whole band rushed to the spot to rescue he. Mark, Willy’s brother was also there to help him. A van was ready at the down valley and was immediately send for treatment.

I stood still there in a shady place, a bucket on my hand. I was shocked at the swiftness of the event. I was thinking what will happen to farmer Smith’s family. How the family will come up with this? I could never make out why people are so fond of killing themselves for their mare pleasure.

Words: 503
Source: Amzad Sir

Category: Composition Writing - English | Added by: Shawon
Views: 402 | Tags: Articles, story, Language, English

 

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