by Freida Marie Crump
Greetings from Poosey.
I can imagine the scene. Og the caveman wakes in his cave, stretches, belches up a bit of the mastodon nuggets from the night before, looks over and sees his wife Ogala still sleeping by the fire, then walks out into the cool Pleistocene morning. He looks across at the next hillside. Ever since he was a little Neanderthal he had been curious