“Little Imps”, that reminds me of a story about his Grandpa. He used to call his grandkids lovingly, little imps. But when a pack of wolves killed the dog they loved, he grabbed his rifles and took my friend (the oldest grandson) and his Dad out to a stand of trees where they placed a gutted cow from their farm in the center. They climbed three opposing trees with their loaded rifles.
He advised them to not shoot the first wolf that came in. The first wolf scouted, then returned with the pack. Then they began shooting. The first shot confused the wolves and they were not sure where to run. My friend, his Dad and his Grandpa killed the whole pack.
Protecting the “Little Imps”.
That’s a neat story and one to cherish. Thanks for sharing.
How we miss those old folks.
Yes, my Grandmother used “little imps” in a loving way, too.