Poor old Randy. Termites? How sad. Uncle "Peg Leg" Henry Pascal never had a problem with them. His problems were with the cops because he was a rum runner... a bootlegger. He stayed at Gramps house in winter and delivered groceries for Harmers and the Willet Fruit where Gramps was the "shipper" (2ic to the guy that owned the company). Uncle Henry would get 5 gallon cans of "Hand Brand Alcohol" delivered on the CNR from Uppity Canada or from runners off the coast of NB and NS. He would keep the cans in Gramps' back yard and deliver them on a toboggan. He delivered groceries by toboggan under Gramps' employ so that worked well for the bootlegging cover. Great story about the night he had a bunch under a blanket when he was going by the cop shop but never mind that. Better yet, he sent Uncle Chic for baccy one day as he was too drunk to navigate. Chic was about 5 years old. Pegleg tamped a pipe and lit it and got Uncle chic ta put his finger in the pipe whereupon, Chic screamed blue murder. Gamma raced in and that was that. Uncle Henry was out the door, never to return.

Thence came the tale, and song, of Henry Pegleg Pascal. Bereft of his winter abode, he sought refuge in the Queens County Jail. He was successful. He used his peg leg to kick in the plate glass window of the liquor store in Chipman, nb.ca. Drunk as a skunk but smart as a fox. And snug as a bug in a rug with three square a day until spring. And, then, back ta bootleggin.