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More Big Game Adventures with Buffco
It was dark. The moon hadn't appeared yet. The only light came from my single LED headlamp, with dying batteries.
I exited my truck, and stepped into the still, hot air. The temperature had only fallen to 90 degrees, even at this late hour. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled the round canister and tamped it's lid. Opening it up, I expertly pinched a semi moist ball of Copenhagen between my thumb and forefinger, and placed it into my cheek. The bitter sweet juice immediately reached my palate, and I savored the flavor a moment before spitting a golden brown stream into the dense field grass.
Armed with the Heritage Rough Rider, stoked with six .22 WMR shot shells, I quietly approached my favorite killing grounds.
Silently, the safety snicked open. The hammer gave two audible clicks as my thumb expertly pressed down. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet night air. The only other sounds to be heard were the occasional lowing of far off cattle.
I approached the baited area with a few deliberate steps. Steeling myself, I took hold of the hopper handle with my left hand. A quick visual check to ensure my dim light was pointing in the right direction, and I flung the door open.
Multitudes.
Targets of opportunity were as thick as the dust in the air. Dozens of frightful eyes shot in my direction and for one split second, everything froze. Time stood still.
Then the explosion. The revolver bucked in my hand, seemingly without any direction from my trigger finger. One gray body twitched, then lie still. Then, as though the fires of hell were right on their tails, my quarry dashed in mad disarray. But only three options were available to them.
One, the 2 inch hole at the top of the feed hopper. Two, the small opening between the layer of feed and the lip of the trough.
And three? A swift end, courtesy of a light charge of lead pellets, erupting from the 6 inch barrel of my revolver.
Click, bang. Click, bang. I unconsciously thumbed the hammer and fired, all in a smooth, beautiful dance, where flesh and blood married with deadly steel.
Click. Click. My revolver had spent it's last cartridge. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder lingered in the now still night air. Four bodies lay dead or dying, in various poses.
My eyes lifted to see one lone target. In the hellish chaos, with his comrades fleeing the carnage, this one male stood frozen in what could only be a mix of fear and confusion. The scene before him happened so fast, the calamity so great, his brain was completely overwhelmed, his fight or flight instinct completely missing.
He never saw the muzzle of the barrel swinging towards his head. Even though the light was dim, it still shone directly in his eyes. His fatal mistake of standing still cost him his life, his skull bashed in with a resounding thunk.
Five bodies now lay on top of the substance that, mere moments ago, was their manna from heaven. Now, the 13% All Stock feed mix with molasses served as their death bed, and absorbed the light trickles of blood that seeped from ears, noses, mouths.
Four or five animals lived to tell a tale that would scare any stout hearted would-be feed thief. It all began and ended so fast, I'm sure their tales will all be different, yet one element will remain the same.
Hell opened up and swallowed most of us tonight, and just as quickly closed it's burning gates.
I exited my truck, and stepped into the still, hot air. The temperature had only fallen to 90 degrees, even at this late hour. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled the round canister and tamped it's lid. Opening it up, I expertly pinched a semi moist ball of Copenhagen between my thumb and forefinger, and placed it into my cheek. The bitter sweet juice immediately reached my palate, and I savored the flavor a moment before spitting a golden brown stream into the dense field grass.
Armed with the Heritage Rough Rider, stoked with six .22 WMR shot shells, I quietly approached my favorite killing grounds.
Silently, the safety snicked open. The hammer gave two audible clicks as my thumb expertly pressed down. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet night air. The only other sounds to be heard were the occasional lowing of far off cattle.
I approached the baited area with a few deliberate steps. Steeling myself, I took hold of the hopper handle with my left hand. A quick visual check to ensure my dim light was pointing in the right direction, and I flung the door open.
Multitudes.
Targets of opportunity were as thick as the dust in the air. Dozens of frightful eyes shot in my direction and for one split second, everything froze. Time stood still.
Then the explosion. The revolver bucked in my hand, seemingly without any direction from my trigger finger. One gray body twitched, then lie still. Then, as though the fires of hell were right on their tails, my quarry dashed in mad disarray. But only three options were available to them.
One, the 2 inch hole at the top of the feed hopper. Two, the small opening between the layer of feed and the lip of the trough.
And three? A swift end, courtesy of a light charge of lead pellets, erupting from the 6 inch barrel of my revolver.
Click, bang. Click, bang. I unconsciously thumbed the hammer and fired, all in a smooth, beautiful dance, where flesh and blood married with deadly steel.
Click. Click. My revolver had spent it's last cartridge. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder lingered in the now still night air. Four bodies lay dead or dying, in various poses.
My eyes lifted to see one lone target. In the hellish chaos, with his comrades fleeing the carnage, this one male stood frozen in what could only be a mix of fear and confusion. The scene before him happened so fast, the calamity so great, his brain was completely overwhelmed, his fight or flight instinct completely missing.
He never saw the muzzle of the barrel swinging towards his head. Even though the light was dim, it still shone directly in his eyes. His fatal mistake of standing still cost him his life, his skull bashed in with a resounding thunk.
Five bodies now lay on top of the substance that, mere moments ago, was their manna from heaven. Now, the 13% All Stock feed mix with molasses served as their death bed, and absorbed the light trickles of blood that seeped from ears, noses, mouths.
Four or five animals lived to tell a tale that would scare any stout hearted would-be feed thief. It all began and ended so fast, I'm sure their tales will all be different, yet one element will remain the same.
Hell opened up and swallowed most of us tonight, and just as quickly closed it's burning gates.
Replies
:sigh:
I quit several years ago. Still love the smell of Copenhagen. I can hear a can being tamped a long ways away and smell an open one across the room.
:sigh:
Mmmm.
P-TOOEY!
I need to quit. For now, I just tell everyone I'm getting my vegetables this way.
You and Buffy have been to Denmark together?
One of the distributors (I'll have to ask daddy but I think it was the Alabama guy) had his luggage lost thanks to the airline. Packed in his bags were a couple sleeves of snuff.
Once they got to the motel, Todd disappeared for a couple hours. When he came back, he was in a panic. "They don't sell dip ANYWHERE in this country!"
I can't remember if he ever found any.
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Is that wrestle..................or wrastle. I have been told the former is a form of sport, the latter is something 2 consenting males do...........
George Carlin
Dad 5-31-13
I did it for 34 years and stopped cold turkey on the morning of May 5th, 2007. Funny how we can remember such dates but can't remember what we had for breakfast. If I was on the moon and you opened a can in Texas I think I could smell it.
Son that's somebody with nothing to do with his time but keep me in trouble with mom.
I found the secret. When I only had one Tom Cat, he was worth crap at ratting. He would play with them or just lie there watching, but was too lazy to get off his ass and kill the damn things. Bring in another Tom and it's GAME ON! Tom cats compete fiercely. There ain't a rat within a block of my house now.
BUT BEWARE! I don't care if your tom cat is neutered or he's the best potty trained animal this side of the NY Zoo, once you introduce another tom into his domain he's going to Pee and Poop at will. They will poop on stuff in sight of a cat box just to show the other one they CAN! I have to lock them up at night separate with separate cat boxes. One's in the laundry room, one's in a storage area. They're good in the day, but once the human prying eye is shut in sleep, all bets are off.
DUMB ASS CAT!
Son that's somebody with nothing to do with his time but keep me in trouble with mom.
Son that's somebody with nothing to do with his time but keep me in trouble with mom.
-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and politician
A safety on a SA!! BLASPHEMY!
:agree: Great idea!
Nice writing there, Buffy.
Oh, I agree. I definitely agree. If safeties had been put on revolvers back in Moses' time, we'd have had an 11th Commandment.
The hot, sultry blonde was at the house.
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-96 lbs
Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.... now who's bringing the hot wings? :jester:
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DPRMD