The year Tommy turned 9, he and Pat decided that they needed a pet buzzard. The problem was, they couldn’t seem to get close enough to any buzzards to grab them.
But Tommy had a idea. Buzzards eat dead things, so all we need to do is get one to think we’re dead, and he’ll walk right up to us. Then we’ll grab him!
Pat wasn't so sure. He’ll know we’re just faking cuz we don’t look dead.
But Tommy said, Not if we look like we just this minute died from bleeding to death.
So, the next day, before leaving for the hills, Tommy snuck into his mother’s pantry, and got himself a bottle of ketchup.
They found the perfect clearing, and only after they staged a convincing battle in which they would both die, Tommy and Pat put down their wooden rifles, and opened the new bottle of ketchup. They took turns pouring its contents on each other, and then crawled almost 20 feet in the tall dry grass, moaning, Oh I’m dying. I’m dying.
Naturally, they had to make certain that the buzzard was convinced. So for good measure, the boys got up and did their best I’ve-just-been-shot-by-the-Enemy collapse, falling back to the ground.
And then they waited.
On their backs, they waited. And they planned about what to do when the buzzard walked up to eat them. I’ll get up and grab him by his legs. No. I’ll jump on top of him. Should we tie him up with my belt? Hey, shut up. He’s probably looking at us, right now!
And for a long while, watching the blue, cloudless, buzzardless sky, neither said a word.