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Unread 10-15-2003, 02:35 PM   #25
wterrell
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Location: Colorado
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As a youth of 16, the sport of quail hunting was very much the passion in my life, as few men have ever known. In the autumn of that year my cousin, Albert, who was about the same age as me, from Alabama came to our farm for the Thanksgiving holiday and we decided to spend the morning shooting a few birds.
The most productive covey cover in those parts was on a small farm belonging to Dillon Woodard, a neighbor very well near eighty years old. We drove up the long dirt road to his house, stopped at the barn, and while I got out of the truck to ask Mr. Woodard for permission to hunt, Albert checked on our birddogs in the dog crates.
Dillon Woodard, while sitting at the kitchen table, gladly consented to letting me and my cousin hunt the creek bottom and plum thickets for quail, if I would do him a favor..."Wes," he said, "my old mule, George, is deathly sick and needs to be put down. If you will please put old George out of his misery, you can hunt all this season." I solemnly assured him that the deed would be done immediately and he said that later in the morning he would drag old George to the barn with the tractor.
Walking back to the truck, I decided that I would have a little fun with my cousin Albert, and started working up quite a fierce display of temper as I approached the truck, kicking dirt, cursing and spitting all along the way. I bailed into the driver's seat, slammed the door and I spun the tires when heading down out of the drive toward the country road.
"The nerve of that old man! After all the favors that I have done for him, all the work that I have helped him with! And now he refuses to let me hunt for a few quail on his place! Damn that makes me mad." Half way down Mr. Woodard's drive I spotted George, the mule, and slammed on the brakes. "That old man is not going to get away with that! Just watch this, Albert." I fetched a rifle from the rack on the back window of the truck, stuck it out of the window, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Old George fell like a ton of bricks.
As the smoke cleared from the barrel of the rifle, there were the reports of two additional shots. Bang! Bang!
"What the hell?! What are you doing, Albert?!"
"That old man made you so mad with his ill treatment of you," said Albert, "that it made me mad as hell too and I just shot two of his cows!".
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