As a result of the NASCAR Hall of Fame announcement, I'm going country over the next few weeks. I got to do it (and my writing will reflect my drawl too) Randomly, I'll pick a staple of my own southern background and culture and reflect, or...just write about whatever comes to mind about it. For Example:
(My first shotgun)Raccoon Hunting-
Listening to the dogs back in the distance and freezing my #$@ off! Selling the meat and hides to neighbors. And the look of a skinned raccoon. Deer Hunting-
In a field on Batson's Farm. Shot 3 times at deer, maybe 100 yards away. Missed horribly. Only Deer I ever hit was while I had four wheels in motion.Rebel-
My brother's dog. He loved that old dog. Good hunting dog. My first dog was named Soul. He would defend me with his life...until my mom ran over him with her car. He lived, but was never quite my defender, God bless Soul...and Rebel.On Dogs-
There was a hunting dog that jumps off an Interstate bridge...and lived. Craziest thing. He hit the ground...was motionless for a few moments, then staggered up and around. Squirrels-
Guilty feeling. I shot one late in the afternoon. I didn't find it, bury it, or eat it. Shooting a 22 rifle from quite a distance. It just fell. I later thought "what a waste". Why shoot a squirrel. I always took extra time with squirrels at Guilford College. Bear-
Time I saw a Bear. Yeah, a real one. That is what I told everyone. No one believed me. Only me and the Bear know the truth. I saw that bear. Snakes-
No. Never hunted snakes, but killed a few. I jumped over one while running through a plowed up field. Went back, it was gone. But a copperhead was wrapped around a tobacco stalk as I was cropping around the stalk. While my tightie-whitties were looked questionable upon washing, that was one DEEAADD snake after me and my friends beat it like a... mad dog with the mange. Never killed a snake at the river. Saw many and up close. But I just felt like if I killed one, they'd get me. Bad luck. BB guns-
Shot a few birds with it. Stray cats. Had to pump it for pressure. I think my brother shot me with one. Can't remember. He did push me on a garbage bag with broken glass. Have the scars to prove it. My sister got him back. Potato rake to the head and the neighbors dog got him too. I got him back too. For another topic. Baseball. 2nd Amendment-
Support it. Got my dad a bunch of stickers and patches while I worked for NRA in college. No joke. Don't agree with their politics, but my dad really liked the hat. That meant alot to me.Duck Hunting-
I've already mentioned it. Cheney, decoys, and foam. No further comment. Boots-
Never had a good pair of hunting boots. Jumped out of some once running home through pig slop. Late afternoon..winter. Tried to take a short cut. Bad idea. They were my brother's. I borrowed, well, liberated them. The mud was freezing my toes and I got stuck. The mud was deep and syrupy. I was 10 years old. I cried. My feet warmed eventually as I ran across the last field to get home.
And last but not least...Possums.
I really detest possums, even little ones. I don't even like that itty-bitty one in the sink. They are dirty, rotten, and stink up the road, field, whatever. I've found them in trash cans, run over them, and chased them. A waste of a good round.