Newshound Ady & Flo www.sunlive.co.nz

There's nothing like a bit of fresh hare and exercise, my gran always says.

Or was that air? Anyway, the newshounds have been getting their share of both lately, hot on the heels of a variety of furry parasites, which were brought into the world for us to chase to the ends of the earth.
This week I chased one beyond the end of the earth and fell off the edge.

The adventure started with a trip to the bush to re-set the possum traps, bait up the ferret and stoat stations, and give the rats, hares and pigs a hard time.
Fresh from my victory over a hare recently, I was feeling quite plucky about nailing anything on four legs.
We hadn't been to the bush for a couple of months, so the critters were getting pretty blasé and taking extreme liberties – such as ransacking the cabin, pooping on the deck, chewing at the outdoor furniture and generally making pesty nuisances of themselves.
So I was highly amped by nightfall when Ruger came out for a walk with his spotlight on. I trotted patiently alongside the boss and Ruger as we descended deeper and darker into the wildlands.
Then the boss said, 'Flo, you go find a possum. Sniff it out with your nose!”
What a good idea, I thought. So I tore off faster than Quade Cooper at a Robbie Deans fanclub meeting, with my radar nose on high alert. Sure enough, a whiff of dastardly possum wafted down the valley. I followed it all the way to a base of a tree overhanging the harbour.
Woof, woof, gurr-woof. (Translation: Possums at 12 o'clock, Boss).
In no time the boss was there (seemed to be puffing a bit?) and Ruger let out a couple of double taps – and blow me down, if two possums fell out of the tree!
I dispatched the first in record time, cos I had to move onto his sidekick. There was a short chase and the rest, well at least the possum, was history.
Then followed a loud splash, as the varmint fell into the tide.
Without even thinking, this newshound launched off into oblivion in hot pursuit.
The boss was calling out to leave it, but being a faithful retriever, the job's not done till the goods are delivered.
So after swimming half way to Argentina and back, with a furball the size of a wet horse blanket in tow, one bedraggled newshound staggered ashore a mile down the coast with victim number two.
'Good work”, said the boss. 'Let's go home and get dry.”
That was a satisfying night out. And drying myself on his sleeping bag was a bonus!