Eli Terry just struck noon from its dining-room shelf and here I sit, fresh off a few hours of procrastination, still waiting for that final stocking report — the most important one, of course.

Actually, I guess I’m stretching it a bit to call my morning activity procrastination. Reading is seldom that mindless, especially reading with a purpose, not just to kill time or escape reality, which would indeed qualify as that dirty P word we can all occasionally succumb to. Fact is I’m still studying naughty American novelist Henry Miller (1891-1980), am nearly finished with Robert Ferguson’s biography, fascinating stuff. Miller’s novels were banned here and in England for the high crimes of blasphemy, profanity and unpopular truths, never welcomed by the Chamber of Commerce, clergy or high school administrators. Yes, Miller — auto-didactic to boot (the shame of it) — was banned in Boston and New York, would likely have been lynched from a short, stout scrub oak in Texas or Alabama if the high and mighty down there could have gotten their hands on him. And to think my captivating little research project got started with late West Whately gadfly publisher Jimmy Cooney, that irascible pacifist and card-carrying socialist I stumbled upon many years ago as an unapologetic, hormone-driven teen on Poplar Hill.

Truth be told, I still refuse to say I’m sorry for discovering such “corrupting” influences all on my own. In fact, thank the forest gods I was happenstance exposed to free spirits like Cooney and Marshall Smith, dangerous subversives to police chiefs and Boy Scout leaders, but in fact no scarier than sparkling water bubbling from a Guinea Gulch spring. I say when you find such a wellspring you best drop to your knees, cup your hands and savor it like the fountain of youth. You’ll find refreshing, nourishing lessons unattainable in a stifling classroom where Old Glory and Christ’s cross hang for all to worship. Yes, Cooney and his radical retinue indirectly led me off the beaten path to many exciting places, some taboo in the mainstream press, and I think I’m a better man for it.

But, anyway, back to the task at hand, that of cranking out a weekly column, this one revisiting a now clarified tale from last week before moving to the mundane, weekly spring stocking report so eagerly awaited by the truck-following rabble. Isn’t that what newspapers are for? The rabble? Maybe. If so, must I feed this hungry crowd of discriminating big-box taste? Should I feel guilty or proud? You be the judge.

But, again, let us not digress. First the clarification, which takes us back to last week’s story about recent coyote carnage in my Greenfield neighborhood, a tale I knew was true but could not confirm. Well, that little lead into my column smoked out the facts in a jiffy. The phone message arrived at my home shortly after 9 a.m. Friday while I was down at Sunken Meadow walking the dog and searching the marshy woods along the perimeter for erect, leftover, dark-brown ostrich ferns that point a man toward tight spring fiddleheads, a tasty treat I annually enjoy — steamed, then smothered in butter with Parmesan cheese; excellent if you combine them with tortellini, bowtie noodles will do.

Enough of that. Back to the deer story I keep getting distracted from. As I predicted, I didn’t have all my facts straight, just enough rumor to get my point across: that deer can be vulnerable to our most efficient predators even long after deep, tiring snow has disappeared from the landscape. To refresh your memory, I reported that a pregnant doe had been savagely killed in the backyard of a thickly settled neighborhood near my home, and that the coyotes had left behind an intact fetus. Because I knew coyotes typically focus first on the entrails when devouring a fresh deer kill, I suspected they had eaten one twin fetus and left the other for later. Well, I had it wrong. There was no fawn visible, just a dead doe with prominent nipples, its carcass left virtually intact minus its guts and internal organs. Apparently, the coyotes had eaten the unborn and left the adult for later consumption.

Interestingly, the coyotes used a black chain-link fence for assistance. They had chased the pregnant doe through a wetland depression along a brook, and when the deer tried to circle back through an unfamiliar backyard, it ran flush into the fence, buckling a sturdy vertical post near its death bed. The homeowners, Fred Steiner and family of Meadow Lane, were alerted to the kill by the predawn barking of their dog. They then spotted the pathetic prostrate animal after first light, not a pretty sight. So, that is the rest of the story. Eat your heart out, Paul Harvey. Glad to finally find the facts.

So, now, on to trout stocking, starting with a call from old pal Peter Mallett, brainchild of the Millers River Fishermen’s Association (MRFA), which generously supplements state stocking on the Millers River and elsewhere in eastern Franklin County. This year Mallet and friends will stock more than 400 pounds of rainbow and brook trout from Plymouth’s Gilbert Hatchery. Many of the trout will be in the 16- to 18-inch category, with an added bonus of several four pounders. Mallet claims the Gilbert Hatchery was first owned by the clipper ship captain who was responsible for introducing brown trout to America. The good captain used to transport brown-trout eggs across the Atlantic on blocks of ice, then hatch, raise and stock them in eastern Massachusetts and beyond. Today, Gilbert’s rainbows are distinctive “Donovan rainbow trout,” with brilliant coloration differentiating them from the duller state-stocked fish, according to Mallett.

MRFA has scheduled three consecutive 11 a.m. Saturday kids’-stocking days, the first this week, when people will assemble in the Birch Hill Dam parking lot in South Royalston. Youths will assist with the stocking, then have free reign to fish afterward. The subsequent kids’ stocking dates and sites are: May 7 at Alan Rich Park in Athol, and May 14 at the Orange Sewage Treatment Plant off Route 2A in Orange.

As for the state-stocking schedule, the Western District will again hit the upper Deerfield River in Florida, Charlemont and Buckland, while doing Cold River in Florida and Charlemont and North Pond in Florida as well. Sadly, nothing to report on the Valley District stocking destinations. First time in years, so cut them a break. They were busy stocking Wednesday, the office assistant out sick for her third day. I waited all day for the list, phoned twice, no luck. Sorry, fellas. I have to believe it’s time for the Green and North rivers to get some fish after a long drought. No guarantees. Just a hunch. Educated guess. It’s almost May. Way overdue.

Off I go.