Well my good day died.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones died this morning. Mrs. Jones died on the dirt road, laying in the sun, and Mr. Jones, distraught, got locked into a life and death fight with two younger males who decided to take advantage of the brumation time to move into the swamp, and while Mr. Jones put up one hell of a fight, he succumbed to his injuries. He killed one, and mortally wounded the other before he crawled onto the bank and died. Sir watched over them until friends of his, and the Jonses helped scare the other alligators away, so Sir could carry them to be properly buried. Dad gave him permission to use the empty part of the yard closest to the swamp to bury them. Damn, I loved them, even when they would scare me. Fond memories and pictures of me pet patting them when I was a toddler. They were gentle giants who were more interested in the fish people caught than eating the people fishing.