My late Uncle Bill Judge of Grand Falls, among the best and funniest storytellers I’ve ever known (and an incredibly fine man to boot), always gave me a good laugh with his recollection of driving his father, my grandfather, Joe Judge, right off his rocker whenever he brought muskrats home from the woods to be cooked up.
“The rats,” as casually referred to by Bill (obviously unbothered by a word associated with bad-press rodents whose mere mention, let alone actual sightings, give most souls the cold shivers) were trapped by him and his buddy Jerome Power when they were young fellas hunting just about anything that moved in the central Newfoundland area.
