I have no words, but here they are anyway for your perusal. Enjoy (or not)..
I swear, this really happened...
Once 'pon a time, I had me a friend. Hard to believe I know, but I dun did. He wer a friend at work, not one I dun things wit, but still he wer a friend. His name wer Joe and he wer one o' them people you might see on TV, them hillbilly type people. We worked in th' butcher shop t'gether and as I come t'know him he grew on me, kinda like a fungus I 'spec.
Anyway, Ol' Joe wer a hunter an' fisherman, a real outdoorsman. He lived in a cabin on sum land an' spent all o' his time not workin' outdoors doin' somethun. If'n it wer huntin' season, he wer a'huntin'. If it warn't, he wer a'fishin'; at least, 'less he wer makin' shine. Yeah, Ol' Joe had him a still an' he made sum shine. I hear it wer good, but I ain't ne'er had nun; he dun drunk it all.
So, anyway, Ol' Joe came t'work one day with his arm in a cast. It wer Spring, an' when I asked him what happened, he told me a fish broke it.
It turned out that Joe would take a couple o' weeks o' vacation each Spring an' guide city folk on th' river a'catchin' spoonbill; y'know, paddlefish. He got into sum good uns', way o'er a hunnerd pounds an' this time, one o' them got him. See, his feller in th' boat dun snagged him a biggun an' when he got it close to th' boat Joe dun tossed him a rope 'round its tail an' wrapped t'other end 'round his arm. Bad idea. This fish took off, broke th' feller's line an' broke Joe's arm o'er th' gunnel o' th' boat, snapping it flat in half. Ol' Joe said he ain't ne'er doin' that again.
Th' next yar he dun did it again, this time it wer his other shoulder but th' same thing. Rope on tail, rope 'round arm, broke line, fish makin' a run, yanked his arm clean outta the socket.
He don't larn too fast.
But I digress...
Anyhoo, on this one day durin' huntin' season, Ol' Joe got hissef ready real early to go huntin'. He laid his stuff out th' night afore, gun 'n all. Then, when th' 'larm clock woke him he got up an' stumbled t' th' kitchen. He made a big ol' pot of strong coffee, tossed a horseshoe in it t' make sure it wer ready 'n drank some an' put t'rest in a thermos fer later. He might drink it, he might pour some o'er his eyes to wake up; strong coffee is good fer that.
He got dressed, got his stuff an' headed out t' his stand. Easin' through th' dark he made it without spookin' nuthin'. Settlin' in to his stand, he waited.
All day, he waited. Stayed in th' stand, ne'er gettin' up nor peein' nor nuthin. Then, 'bout as th' sun wer agoin' down, he saw movement across th' field he sat o'er. A deer! But not jes' any deer, it wer a buck. An' a big 'un at that!!
He reached o'er an' picked up his trusty .270, Wilma. Don't know why he named it Wilma; hell, all his guns wer Wilma. His shotgun, Wilma; .22, Wilma; 50 cal blackpowder, Wilma. Hell, even his BB gun wer Wilma!
Anyhoo, he eased th' gun up, flipped up th' scope covers an' settled it on his shoulder. Lookin' through th' scope, he sighted th' monster buck. Leanin' for'ard he...
Raised th' window an' settled th' gun on th' window frame, eased th' safety off an' squeezed th' triggger.
Across th' room, his girlfriend screamed, tossed th' skillet in the air, onions an' hamburgers flying across th' kitchen.
Ol Joe looked at her an' hollered "I got him!!"
She looked at him an' hollered "What th' hell's wrong with you!?!?!?"
I swear, this really happened.
Ol' Joe showed me the picture of a 12 point buck, shot from his recliner, through a window on his property. I talked to his girlfriend, and she confirmed it, every word. She made him clean up the kitchen, and take her out to dinner that night.
After he cleaned the deer, of course.
© 2021 Mr Archer