A Blind Man's Wet Dream

Sven moved swishingly through the prairie. Swish swish swish swish went his cane. His dog barked.
"Ruff. Ruff."
"What is it, Jehovah?"
"Ruff. Ruff. Ruff."
Sven turned exactly thirty-seven degrees northwards. Thump thump went his head on the ground, placing itself ever so neatly towards the dog, landing perfectly on its neck, but not before doing a perfect triple-luge in midair. The dog said "Fuck you, blind man," laughed and made love to a fox all night long.
She was a real fox too. Not the metaphorical fox, the kind of woman walking down the street who makes lechers give the wolf whistle, but the kind of real fox you only find in the forest, long, sleek, and shimmering. The dog whistled as he came, but it was no wolf whistle, only the long purr of a satisfied beast.
With a gentle bark, he became a tree.
The fox was stunned. Had she been fucking a big-sized piece of wood for eight nights running? She could have any creature she wanted, but it seemed she had heeded the beaver between her legs a little too literally. Now she was nothing more than a treefucker, an environmentalist thinking that if he fucks Nature, he can become Father Nature, but being horribly wrong.
With a gentle bark, he became a leopard.
Gnish gnash went his clenching teeth as he sheared the fox in half, sending blood splattering over the tree, the dog, and the blind man. "There's no sense to be had when you can't see", said Sven, as he walked back out of the forest. No sense at all.