Forsooth, ’twas an immensely sad day for the girls and me, for upon this wet and blustery day, surely a mirror of our sorrow, it has become more than apparent that our knight in plush fleece and khakis, Sir-Walks-A-Lot, and his band of merry men wooly pack of merry woofers have been banished from the serpentine trails high atop Round Hill and exiled to some far off uncharted marinian land.

The witch hunt, for that is indeed what it is best likened to, began some eleven moons ago when,