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A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys Painted wings and giants’s rings make way for other toys.
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A feather in the hand is better than a bird in the air.
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A feather kitty’s talent lies In scratching out the other’s eyes. A feather kitty never dies Oh immortality.
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A fence should be horse high, hog tight and bull strong.
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A fox is a wolf who sends flowers.
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A good horse will never return to graze on grass it has already passed by.
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A harmless necessary cat.
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A hen is only an egg’s way of making another egg.- Samuel Butler
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A horse gallops with his lungs,Perseveres with his heart,And wins with his character.- Tesio
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A house is not a home without a pet.- Anonymous
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A jewel in a pig’s nose is comparable to a pretty woman without discretion.- Proverb
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A leopard does not change his spots, or change his feeling that spots are rather a credit.
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A little over five years ago, I was driving back to Minneapolis with my friend Dick after a May fishing trip in north central Minnesota. As we headed south on Highway 64 through a pleasing mix of swamp, forest, and farmland, a white-tailed deer appeared in the middle of the highway. It just stood there, motionless in the dusky fog. With no chance to swerve or brake, we plowed squarely into the animal. Neither Dick nor I was injured. The car–my grandmother’s wheezy old Plymouth Horizon–was less fortunate. After climbing out to survey the damage, the first thing I noticed was the crumpled front end. The right headlight dangled from a single wire. Antifreeze gushed from the radiator, pooling in the road. Of course, the deer was dead, sprawled out with long skinny legs akimbo and guts everywhere. It looked like someone had spilled a cafeteria tray full of sloppy joe. I could tell the deer was a doe; there were no antlers or antler buds that would indicate a buck. I took a closer look and there, in the fading light, I noticed the outline of a nearly full-term fawn, dislodged from its mother’s womb by the violent collision. There was yet another horror. Dick spotted it first: something small, making a flopping motion on the center line about 30 feet away. At first, I thought it was a severed limb, perhaps in some final, nervous spasm. I walked over to investigate, whereupon I found a spectacle as pathetic and macabre as anything I’d ever laid eyes on. The doe, it turned out, had been pregnant with twins. I had just located the other sibling.
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A lotta cats copy the Mona Lisa, but people still line up to see the original.
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A man may well bring a horse to the water, But he cannot make him drinke without he will.
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A man recovers best from his exceptional nature–his intellectuality–by giving his animal instincts a chance.
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A mule has neither pride of ancestry nor hope of posterity.
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A peasant becomes fond of his pig and is glad to salt away its pork. What is significant, and is so difficult for the urban stranger to understand, is that the two statements are connected by an and not by a but.
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A Poet’s Cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think.
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A poor sequestered stag, That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt, Did come to languish;… … and the big round tears Coursed one another down his innocent nose In piteous chase.
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