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Bow hunting and the Thanksgiving turkey

I ran into Those Canadians the other day, Woody Debris and his sun Chip. No, I mean I actually ran into them. They were parked in the middle of a logging road and driving that big, camouflaged  macho-honcho diesel wheezin’ Dodge truck of theirs and I didn’t see them. It was a good thing I was driving kind’a slow looking out for grouse that might be crossing the road. 

I never scratched their truck but I did cause them to spill their lattes and of course it tore the headlights out of my truck. Boy, those steel bumper guards on those trucks are hell for stout. 

While Chip and I were prying our trucks apart, Woody made lattes for everyone. “I didn’t know you had a latte machine in your truck,” I said. “Yep,” says Woody, “Comes with the sportsman model.  The only thing we had added at the factory as an option was the Bar-B- Q’er under the hood.”

While we were standing around drinking our lattes and cleaning up the glass from my broken headlights, a spike bull staggered across the road in front of us. He had an arrow hanging out of his gut where some bow hunter had made a bad shot. As we stood there staring in the direction he was traveling a pair of wolves crossed on his trail. They just glanced at us and apparently were not the least bit concerned with our presence and kept in hot pursuit of the wounded elk. We looked at each other in amazement and disbelief when a bow hunter staggered out of the brush with his tongue hanging out. We all pointed in the direction the elk had gone and the hunter disappeared into the brush. 

Standing there with our bare faces hanging out wondering at what we had just witnessed, we heard timber crashing and brush being whipped aside and there came a Game Warden out on the road flailing his arms and looking bewildered. “Latte? “asked Woody, holding up a drink cup. The little short game warden just looked at us in disbelief and charged off in hot pursuit of the good, bad and the ugly; 

“Well, I guess all that excitement will keep the grouse from showing themselves around here,” said Woody. “I think Chip and I will gather up all our grouse decoys from up and down the road and spend the rest of the day turkey huntin’. And by the way, those two grouse you have in the back of your truck are two of our better decoys; see the numbers painted on their sides?” said Woody.  

With my dog Scooter standing on my lap looking out for grouse we struck out down the county road headed towards home and a hot lunch of elk stew and corn bread. When coming around a bend in the road we were stopped by a bunch of men and vehicles blocking the road. It seems they were from Search and Rescue and had been called out to find a lost hunter. Mostly they were just standing around drinking something out of thermoses and racing the motors on their four- wheelers. 

Apparently the lost hunter heard all the commotion and had walked out of the woods on his own and was now complaining to the deputy in charge that he had followed the lost hunter protocol by shooting three shots at a time in the air to no avail. “I finally ran out of arrows,” he complained. 

Search and Rescue declared they had saved another lost hunter’s life and all went back to the local watering hole to celebrate and pat each other on the back for a job well done. Sometimes their celebrating lasts for two or more days or until the lost hunter runs out of money.  

After working on my second bowl of elk stew I told Lovie I was going out to get us a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. With a superb hunting dog like Scooter and the crack shot that I am, it shouldn’t take long to bag a plump turkey. “Not when there are a dozen of them roosting in the barn,” Lovie said. “Besides, you already shot the roof full of holes last year trying to get one, and then Scooter had to spend an hour trying to run it down and it was so tough you couldn’t stick a fork in the gravy. 

“No sir, not this year,” she continued. “I bought a Butterball turkey a week ago just in case you come up with this hair brained Idea again.”

But what if the word gets out we bought a turkey? My reputation as a descendant of Davy Crockett will be ruined. Davy will turn over in his grave if the word gets out we bought a turkey. 

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Boots Reynolds Boots Reynolds The "internationally-renowned cowboy artist" Boots Reynolds has moved his comedic interpretation of life into the writing field with his regular column in the River Journal - From the Mouth of the River.

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humor, hunting, Thanksgiving, bow hunting, turkeys

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