OT: Deer Season II; Funny Stories To Share?

Why do you think there were so many rats in that cabin? Probably explains the noise you heard the night before.

Probably underground passages. Food brought them in.

munk
 
munk said:
Why do you think there were so many rats in that cabin? Probably explains the noise you heard the night before.

Probably underground passages. Food brought them in.
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If I'd have thought of that while I was there, I would have been even more freaked out than I was.

Strange noises and creatures in the night are one thing, but to have them coming up from underground passages... That's just too creepy.
 
That's good reading. Awesome story. It's things like that that make me love this forum. It's not all about the knives (even though they're great). It's about the people, the wisdom, the ideas, and the experience. This forum is truly great.
 
To quote someone " What has this to do with khukuris? Everything! "
 
Great story Ben! When I worked at a gas station in East Oakland, lots of people would walk in with gas cans and just get a couple of gallons. I later visited an apartment house in one of the projects and found out what they were doing with the gas: they would poor it into old hubcaps and put the legs of the baby's crib into them, so that the rats could not climb up into the crib and chew on the baby at night! They hated the smell of the gas and stayed away. I kid you not. Of course, everyone smoked, and heater's were going, etc. It's amazing there weren't more fires.

Shooting rats with a .22 was one of my favorite pastimes. In the old farm fields in Petaluma there were thousands of them under the old chicken houses that were built decades ago, living in all the old chicken droppings. What a Ruger 10/22 was made for. A head shot with a CCI Stinger hollowpoint at 1650 FPS and Mr. Ratty ceases to be a problem!

Thanks again for the great story.

Norm
 
I grew up on a small farm just south of Atlanta in the 1950s. We had about four acres of rich soil that we planted every year. One year when I was about 10, we planted corn.

Then the crows came. When the corn began to sprout and break the surface of the ground, they would pull it up and eat the kernal.

So we planted again, this time soaking the seeds in a product called "Crow Tox." It was supposed to make the corn taste bad. It didn't, they ate it as before.

We put a scarecrow in the middle of the field. The crows used it as a base, landing on it and surveying the field. I decided that the crows, being smart critters, knew a man would not stand still in the field all day, so I put another scarecrow figure under a tree in the shade with a brromstick, which I hoped would reperesent a gun. This worked quite well for two days, then they came back.

I remember my rage and frustration. I got my twenty gauge L.C.Smith double barrell and hid near the ineffectual scarecrow. They came down pretty as you please (always liked that phrase) and began their lunch. I took careful aim and triggered both barrels. Two dead crows!

I gutted them and hung one at each end of the field where they were easily visible. I wanted incoming crows to know that this could happen to them! It was amazing.

For two years following we had no crow problems AT ALL!
 
Bill Marsh said:
...For two years following we had no crow problems AT ALL!...
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When I lived in Oklahoma, I couldn't keep the crows out of the garden. They would eat what they wanted, and peck holes in everything else. Nothing worked. They were like the Chinese Army. No matter how many went down, there were millions more waiting to attack.

Everybody had some crazy idea about to deal with the situation. The guy who ran the TV repair shop in town thought that I should build an electric network over the top of the garden that would electrocute them if they touched it.

The guy who filled the propane tanks thought that if I hooked up air horns and a timer system to the propane tank that would keep them away.

One of the guys I worked with at the base thought I should cover the whole garden with a camouflage net so the crows couldn't find it.

The problem was finally solved when the neighbor's cow got into the garden and ate everything down to the ground. We bought all our vegetables at the market that year, but really enjoyed the half a hog that the guy gave us to make up for the bad behavior of his cow.
 
Excellent story, Ben. It's too bad you never made it to the cave. I'd love to hear more about it.

As far as crows, I had a problem with them a few years ago. I was putting bird seed out for the local songbirds and all was good. Then, one fateful day, the seagulls showed up (I'm within sight of the water), beat the daylights out of the local birds, and began using my roof as a base of operations. (And my car as a conveniant bombing target.)

The very next day, the crows showed up. The resulting battle lasted for several days. The crows were victorious. I didn't care for them much either but they were better than the seagulls; I considered the loss of the bird seed worthwhile.

One early morning I heard what sounded like someone pounding on the wall with a hammer. I went outside in a fury, convinced that it was the kids next door up to no good. It was the crows on my roof. The bird feeder was dry and they wanted more. I refilled it and the pounding stopped. Thereafter, every morning I got a prompt 0530 wakeup by the hungry crows. I didn't appreciate it and cut them off. They kept it up to the point where I almost caved in. A week later they finally stopped. They haven't been back since. (Unfortunate, since the starlings overran my position last year and evidently find the casualties that my Diana and I have inflicted on them to be acceptable losses.)

The crows at the Camp were quite obnoxious for a while until we brought out the pellet guns and declared war. They're now well trained. Simply point a broomstick at them and they're gone for days. :)

The one good thing about having a lot of crows around (besides the absence of seagulls) is that it gives you an excellent opportunity to work on crow calls. I've gotten good enough with mine to call them in. When I get better (and can call them off, which is what I normally want to do), then I'll be somewhere.
 
Thanksgiving Vacation 1963

Chapter 1

Gale, Jim, and I had driven down from Oklahoma City to Jim’s home town of Talco, Texas, to hunt deer. Talco was in the northeast part of Texas between Paris and Mountain View. There were lots of pine woods and a huge deer population, and there was the pervasive and overwhelming stench of rotten eggs.

It wasn’t really rotten eggs, it was the smell of Sulphur coming from the oil fields. Or, maybe it had something to do with the Sulphur River that flowed through town on it’s way east through Louisiana to the Gulf. Whatever it was, it was very unpleasant and I thought to myself that’s probably what Hell smells like.

We were looking forward to a good time. Jim’s older brother, U.Jene, was coming up from New Orleans. I always thought his name was Eugene, and that was what it was supposed to be. But, whoever registered his birth, wrote down U.Jene, so that’s who he was.

U.Jene had promised to bring “a real Loosyana treat” for us. We had a hunch what it might be. He was always talking about how he loved Gator Steaks. Grandma Stockton said that no matter what he brought, she would cook it for us. She was already peeling a pile of potatoes to make “Irish Fries” to go with it. Jim’s Uncle Elmer was coming over and bringing a “Couple of Good Friends”. Uncle Elmer was a recluse who lived by himself in the woods. “A Couple of Good Friends” was code that meant he was bringing two jugs of his finest “squeezins”. Gale and I were going to get our bucks, then drive back to the city to spend Thanksgiving with our own families. Jim’s wife and kids were coming down and he would spend Thanksgiving with them at his Grandma’s house.

Jim stopped the truck at the old church grounds. Gale was going to hunt there. I chose the abandoned farm across the street, and Jim had a favorite spot a bit farther down the road. It wasn’t more than forty-five minutes when I heard two shots from Gale’s direction. About ten minutes later, there was one shot from down the road where Jim was. I knew they both had gotten their bucks and would be waiting for me so we could take them down to the oil field supply where Jim’s cousin Robert worked. There was a scaffold in the pipe yard with a winch. We could hang the deer up there, have them skinned and quartered in a matter of minutes and be back at Grandma’s, meeting Uncle Elmer’s “Friends” while we waited for U.Jene and the Loosyana treat. I heard a rustle in the leaves in front and a little to the left of me.

This was going to be too easy.
 
Chapter 2

I hadn’t been deer hunting for two or three years because the last time I went, something strange had happened to me that I didn’t know what to make of, so I gave hunting a rest for a while. I had lost concentration and my mind blanked out when I pulled the trigger. The deer was right in front of me and I had a clear shot. I don’t know if he bounded off or if I hit him. If he bounded off I would have heard him, but If I hit him, I couldn’t find him. The other guys laughed and said I had caught “Buck Fever”. But I knew that was not it. Buck fever afflicted greenhorns. I had hunted most of my life, and besides, the symptoms of Buck fever were freezing before the shot, not going blank after the shot. I thought it was probably because had a lot on my mind. I had just gotten a transfer and I was due to report to my new assignment in Oklahoma City the next month.

But, whatever it was, was all in the past. My mind was clear and focused as I concentrated on the brush waiting for the deer to come into range. There were two of them. A large six point buck and a smaller doe. They were both beautiful animals. I loved watching Whitetails. They are much more graceful than their cousins the Mule deer. And I always thought they were smarter.

They disappeared behind a large clump of brush. I could see them moving. I raised my rifle to be ready when they came out the other side. They still hadn’t noticed my presence. I had a clear shoulder shot when the buck turned towards me and his tail started to twitch. I squeezed the trigger.

This time I kept my eyes wide open. I saw everything. I saw the impact, I saw him fall, and I saw the other one’s flag as she turned and leapt off into the pines. I was elated. All that “Buck Fever” nonsense was far in the past. I was a hunter again and I could take my turn telling my buddies about “the shot”.

Gale and Jim must have been waiting for me at the old farmhouse, because as soon as I shot I heard them blowing the steel whistles that we used for signalling. I blew a little “shave and a haircut”. Somebody answered with “two bits”. I walked over to begin field dressing my trophy. My elation suddenly turned to horror. The horror turned to panic. I sank to my knees.

I had killed the doe.
 
Chapter 3

For a poacher or a pot hunter, the sex of the deer make little difference. It all fried in the same grease. For a sportsman, besides the fact that it was against the law, shooting a doe was taboo. We all understood “hunting accidents” though. The buck and doe went behind the thicket, the buck came out, I shot, the doe jumped in front of the buck and I hit her instead. Even though I knew that was not what happened, it would be my defense.

Gale wasn’t buying it. He was too nice a guy to say anything, but I could tell by the way he would glance at me that I had lost his respect. Jim understood about hunting accidents. When the temperature went below freezing, U.Jene walked with a slight limp because Jim had shot him in the foot with a .22 when they were hunting armadillos as kids.

We field dressed the doe, hid her in an old feed shed, and took the other two deer over to Robert’s shop. Jim would tell Uncle Elmer where it was and he would come that night, take it to his place and butcher it. He could use the meat and at least it wouldn’t go to waste. I felt bad about the whole situation, but my regret was wearing off. I was starting to believe my own story. Accidents happen. I still hadn’t gotten my buck and I didn’t want to go back to the city empty handed.

I planned to go hunting again in the morning.
 
Chapter 4

I drove Jim’s truck back to the old farm. Uncle Elmer had come and gotten the doe. As far as I was concerned, the episode was closed. I set off down the trail, confident that this time I would get my buck. As I approached the thicket, the location of yesterdays events, I heard the leaves rustle. I saw movement through the leaves and I stood stark still. Deer have keen senses. They can catch your scent a mile away. They can hear you breathing across a five acre meadow. If you blink your eyes, they will see it and bolt. But, if you stand completely still, you are invisible to them.

He looked straight me. It was the same buck as yesterday. I didn’t expect to see him there. I wasn’t even planning to hunt there, I was just on my way by. But there he was. He lowered his head and gave a snort, expelling a little puff of steam from his nostrils. Then, he raised his head up as if he was scanning the clouds for some sort of communication. I had a head-on chest shot. I fired.

He went down on his knees, then his back legs folded and he just sat there. His eyes followed my every move as I approached. I tried to take another shot to finish him off, but my rifle jammed. I stood there about five feet in front of him. Our eyes were locked and I felt my face growing hot. His eyes were like glistening pools of black onyx and they were drawing me in. I felt our souls merging. I could feel his labored breathing in my chest and my heartbeat was growing weak.

All of a sudden I felt like Alice with the bottle of “Drink Me”. My head shot skyward and I was looking down at a distorted image of my feet. I lurched sideways. I was dizzy and off balance. I had to sit down. Sweat was running down face. It may have been tears.

I looked over at the buck. He hadn’t moved or tried to get up. He was still staring at me, but his gaze was now soft and resigned. As I sat there trying to regain my breath, I could feel his breathing slowing down. He slowly lowered his head. His nose touched the ground and he died. I loaded him in the truck. The collar of my shirt was soaking wet and I knew now that it was not sweat

I wished I had stayed home. Over the last twenty four hours I had killed two innocent creatures. For what? I didn’t need the meat. Did I do it just for the sport? What sport was there in killing these beautiful animals with whom I now seemed to share some kind of soul-space with?

I didn’t want to see or talk to anybody right then, so I drove down to the river and sat on the bank trying to figure out what had happened. As I sat there, I could see several deer off in the distance on the other side of the river. I didn’t see them as potential targets like I used to. I saw them as brothers and sisters. I wanted to run over there and say “I’m sorry”.

When I got back to the house Jim ran out waving his arms. “Where the Hell have you been? He said. “Something has happened. We have to go back right now.” Gale came out. His usual friendly smile was gone. His lips were tight and his face had a pink tinge. “Our leave is cancelled” he said. “The base is under full alert”.

Grandma Stockton was standing in the doorway twisting her hands in her apron. “They shot the President” she said. Her hands and her voice shook with emotion. “I been praying that we don’t have a war over it”.

I left the deer hanging on the side of the garage. I didn’t want it. Uncle Elmer could have it. We were silent on the way back. There was nothing on the radio except talk of the assassination, and for the time being it had taken over our lives.

A few months later I heard that U.Jene never made it up from New Orleans. He got drunk and drove off the road outside of Baton Rouge. He wasn’t hurt too badly, but he broke his foot - the same foot that Jim shot years ago. Uncle Elmer’s still blew up, burned down his cabin and about 60 acres of woods. He was staying at Grandma Stockton’s and taking care of her after her stroke. Robert had gotten fired from the oil field supply for punching the new foreman, who was black. Several years ago he had been kicked out of the army for punching his Lieutenant, who was black. He was planning to move his family to Idaho.

As I heard all this, I could smell the sulphur and I remembered my first impression of Talco, Texas. I was truly blessed. I had found God in the eyes of a dying deer right in the middle of Hell.

I never hunted again.
 
Thanksgiving Vacation 2004

The ToFurkey Roast had about ten minutes left to bake. I opened the package of ToFurkey Giblet Gravy and a gelatinous mass plopped into the pot. I poked it with a spoon and water squirted out. That was not exactly what I had expected, but I mashed it up and turned on the heat. It started to melt, then simmered, looking almost like real gravy. I tasted it and was pleasantly surprised. Tofu and soy products have been a regular part of out diet for years, but I had never eaten any ToFurkey before. The name didn’t appeal to me. It sounded like a perverse sex act from a New Age porno flick.

For years we had fasted on Thanksgiving. Our tradition of fasting originally had deep spiritual meaning, but in the last few years we seemed to be doing it just to be contrary. I wasn’t going to fast this year. I had bought a pumpkin pie and that was going to be my Thansgiving Dinner. But, when my wife called and said that she and my daughter were going to have a ToFurkey, I decided to drive out to Trader Joe’s and get one myself. Besides, the pumpkin pie was almost gone.

I knew Joe’s would be crowded, but the only other place I could get a ToFurkey was the Natural Foods Co-Op. They had a lot of good stuff, but I didn’t like to shop there anymore. I had shopped at the store forty years ago when it was called “Real Foods”. It was started by Hippies as an alternative to Safeway. Back then, it was a little hole in the wall under an old Victorian building down town. I followed there when they expanded and moved out by the Community College. And when they moved to their new “Super Store” across from the old Del Monte cannery, I shopped there also. I had even shopped at their new store before they moved in. It used to be called “Canned Foods” and sold odd lot, outdated, and close out food to poor folks. But now the Natural Foods Co-Op was being was run by bunch of young Yuppies with superior attitudes and PETA buttons.

When I went there, I felt like they were looking at me as if I were some old geezer off the street with a Big Mac in each pocket who was only there to pick up some Herbal Viagra. Trader Joe had better prices anyway. I got my ToFurkey, ToFurkey Giblet Gravy, a New York Cheesecake, and a bottle of Tadcaster Oatmeal Stout.

******

I took the ToFurkey out of the oven. I had done what the instructions said and cut up a some vegetables, added a sauce of orange juice and soy sauce, sealed it all in aluminum foil with the ToFurkey and baked it for two hours. I peeled back the foil and the aroma of baked onions wafted to my nose. It smelled delicious. But, it looked like a baby’s head lying face down on a bed of potatoes, carrots, and onions.

I cut off a big slice right across the top of the head. I half expected baby brains to come tumbling out like the stuffing in the picture on the box, but it wasn’t full of stuffing like the picture. It had a stuffing filled hole about as fat as a cigar running through the center. I had learned over the years that most anything would be edible if smothered in enough gravy, so I drowned everything in ToFurkey Giblet Gravy, turned on the TV, and sat down to enjoy my first real Thanksgiving Dinner in many years.

The gravy was good. The stuffing, what there was of it, was not bad, but it was nowhere near as good as the cornbread stuffing I had learned to love in Oklahoma, or the New Orleans stuffing that my mother-in-law made. I took my first bite of the ToFurkey. It had a familiar flavor, but it wasn’t the flavor of Roast Turkey that I remembered from my childhood. It was the flavor of the modeling clay that we used to play with, and occasionally eat, in Kindergarden. The texture was interesting. It was firm, yet tender to the teeth with a slightly rubbery resistance. I wouldn’t describe it as good tasting, but the more I ate the more vivid became my kindergarden flashbacks and soon Elwin Mossman and I were happily stuffing blue clay into Sally Cross’s ears.

******

I sat on the sofa, waiting for my stomach to settle, watching the traditional Thanksgiving stories on the news. There were soldiers in Iraq with big plates of turkey and sweet potatoes. There were Bums at the homeless shelter with even bigger plates of Turkey and sweet potatoes. There were millions of travelers jamming the highways and airports. My wife was one of them. She was due to come home tomorrow. I would pick her up at the airport around 10:30 AM. I had missed her and was looking forward to her return.

I had learned a lot this Thanksgiving. For some reason, the Muse had smiled upon me and I was able to write down things that had, for years, been only fragments of memories. Not only was I able to share these memories with others, but for the first time, I was able to see and understand how certain events from my past had influenced the path that I had been on for several decades.

And, I learned that I had been right all along about ToFurkey.
 
Great story!

My wife once was hunting with her dad and accidentally nailed a doe when she was shooting at the buck. My wife felt real bad about it and her dad, who is real straight laced, but didn't want to waste the meat was really nervous helping her get it out of the woods.

The part about the tofu turkey got me laughing. I'm not a vegetarian (obviously) but I like vegetarian food. I had some TVP ish "jerkey" this year that was pretty decent. But your story reminded me of eating some "soysage" vegetarian sausage a while back. It tasted like sawdust soaked in playdough ;)

What's odd is same place makes these "great balls of tofu" soy meatballs that are one of the best things like that I have tried. Lots of sage and spices and the tofu is mixed with walnuts and not only do they taste as good as most meat meatballs, they taste better than most of the meat ones.
 
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