bdcrowe
ST Homeland Security
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2004
- Messages
- 2,207
- Reaction score
- 276
... and it possibly being a "sport", here's a quick story from last week. (I put it here so as not to threadjack; everyone be proud of me.)
My long time friend, whom I worked with for years, took off a half-day from work last Friday because bow-season had started for deer. Come Monday morning, he calls in no-show due to a vaguely described "shoulder injury". We're all really tight, so a couple of my friends who still work with him call him up in a 2-part effort to get the story and harass him if any opportunity to do so is in the explanation.
Said friend was sitting in his stand/blind/whatever with his bow, and a huge, supposed HUGE, whitetail buck walks out mere yards in front of him. He notches the arrow, slowly draws back, and releases the killing shot with nerves of steel, the evening quiet broken only by the muted vibration of the arched gallow string and the crash of several hundred pounds of buck falling into the underbrush. The killing game has found its inevitable conclusion.
Or has it?
Bill rushes from his lair into the clearing, kneels over his prize, and wraps his arms around the neck of the corpse to turn its head and count the points on its massive antlers. The deer, most apparently not bled out and still-- however temporarily-- still very alive, stands and bolts. With Bill's arms still wrapped around its neck.
Bill is not a small man, about 6'5 and 290ish, so it didn't take long for the deer to finally bleed out and fall over-- on top of Bill, who is alone in the woods in late evening and now with a several hundred pound buck laying on top of him.
Bill would not tell us how long he lay there strugling under the mass of warm, furr-coated venison. He wouldn't tell us how many breaks he had to take from wrestling a dead animal before finally freeing himself. He wouldn't even offer me venison sausage as he usually does. But he told more than he should with the unchecked look he gave me when I offered the suggestion that the story was a cover, when I posed the theory that he had worn too much doe-in-heat, and the buck had snuck up behind him to have its way with him.
Shoulder injury, my rear end... Rear-end injury, my shoulder. Whatever. Ode to the unsuspecting red neck...
My long time friend, whom I worked with for years, took off a half-day from work last Friday because bow-season had started for deer. Come Monday morning, he calls in no-show due to a vaguely described "shoulder injury". We're all really tight, so a couple of my friends who still work with him call him up in a 2-part effort to get the story and harass him if any opportunity to do so is in the explanation.
Said friend was sitting in his stand/blind/whatever with his bow, and a huge, supposed HUGE, whitetail buck walks out mere yards in front of him. He notches the arrow, slowly draws back, and releases the killing shot with nerves of steel, the evening quiet broken only by the muted vibration of the arched gallow string and the crash of several hundred pounds of buck falling into the underbrush. The killing game has found its inevitable conclusion.
Or has it?
Bill rushes from his lair into the clearing, kneels over his prize, and wraps his arms around the neck of the corpse to turn its head and count the points on its massive antlers. The deer, most apparently not bled out and still-- however temporarily-- still very alive, stands and bolts. With Bill's arms still wrapped around its neck.
Bill is not a small man, about 6'5 and 290ish, so it didn't take long for the deer to finally bleed out and fall over-- on top of Bill, who is alone in the woods in late evening and now with a several hundred pound buck laying on top of him.
Bill would not tell us how long he lay there strugling under the mass of warm, furr-coated venison. He wouldn't tell us how many breaks he had to take from wrestling a dead animal before finally freeing himself. He wouldn't even offer me venison sausage as he usually does. But he told more than he should with the unchecked look he gave me when I offered the suggestion that the story was a cover, when I posed the theory that he had worn too much doe-in-heat, and the buck had snuck up behind him to have its way with him.
Shoulder injury, my rear end... Rear-end injury, my shoulder. Whatever. Ode to the unsuspecting red neck...
