Way back in time (1962),,,
My Dad went deer hunting with a bunch of his cronies,,,
They really weren't out there for the hunting,,,
But for the local tavern/cat house.
(I found out about the cat house years later)
Anyways Mom made dad take me when I was eleven years old,,,
My rifle was a WW-II bring-back 8mm K98 Mauser.
Anyways we were out there two days and saw nothing,,,
Dad and his cronies had spent two nights at the bar,,,
The third day I woke up and they were packing.
We were supposed to be out there for four days,,,
But Dad and his cronies had run out of drinking money.
I was very upset as I had been promised at least 4 days of camping and hunting,,,
So being the good American boy that I was, the whining started,,,
"But you promised!" was my wail.
I didn't realize that promises to a kid,,,
Were just something to get the kid to shut up.
The first day we were there we sighted our rifles in,,,
Dad paced off a 1 gallon can at 200 yards,,,
No one hit it or came even close to it,,,
Remember, they weren't hunters.
Anyways I whined so much that Dad said,,,
"I'll give you one shot and if you hit the can we stay."
So I cranked the sight ramp to 200 meters,,,
Used the hood of his truck as a rest,,,
And punched a hole in that can.
Dad really didn't have much choice then,,,
His cronies all agreed that he promised to stay.
So there we were for another two days,,,
None of the men had enough money for a bar trip,,,
And to top thing off, the next morning I shot my very first deer.
Dad had to go to the trouble of showing me how to skin the dang thing,,,
He grew up on a dirt farm in Oklahoma hunting and trapping,,,
He looked at this as another bad memory of his youth.
Many years later we actually joked about it a bit,,,
Two days camping with no beer to pass the time with,,,
He always arranged for me to hunt with someone else after that.
Aarond
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