The omnipresence of that voluminous-orbed ruminant, the deer, at my new place of employment has me pondering the following word:

Have you ever paused to ruminate on ruminate? The rich image of digesting thoughts with your pearly whites? Some thoughts are chewy, some go down without a fight, and some leave a queer aftertaste. Most of the Boy-King George W. give me heart-burn. Some thoughts are like scallops—they bounce obstinately about your mental dentition for a time before the savour and texture compels you to expel them…