Sunday, February 27, 2011

We're Assholes!

Oct 18, 2009

As I have gotten older my love for pranks has grown.  I’m not saying that it is right, but it is funny.  I have also found that the best pranks are pulled on the ones closest to you, mainly since you know them so well.  The following is an absolutely true story that happened while out hunting.  It involves me, my Dad, and our hunting buddy, “The Weasel.”  (Note it is pronounced like Grease-Elle, not like the animal.)  And yes, this is the same Weasel that I have written about before.  (The blog post was called “Hunting with the Weasel.”)

Our story starts on the first day of hunting season.  We were in ....Perry.., ..Florida.... hunting at our usual management area Hickory Mound.  We had gotten in late on Saturday, and didn’t have time to scout out any hunting areas.  However, we had hunted at Hickory Mound for many years so we had a few spots that we called our favorites. 

For those who didn’t read my previous post about the Weasel, he is very anal retentive.  He kept asking Dad over and over again, “Where are we all going to hunt?”  Dad kept telling him.  “In the woods.”  Together, those two can be quite hilarious.  Dad finally told the Weasel that he would drop him off wherever he wanted …. Anywhere at all.  The Weasel then kept asking where we would hunt.  Dad told him that we would drive a few miles down the road, make a left, drive another mile down the way, and find a place.  This of course, blew the Weasel’s mind. 

To be honest, Dad wasn’t too gung ho about hunting that morning.  He had been working on Friday, then he spent Saturday driving up to Perry, and setting everything up.  Then we all had to get up early on Sunday morning.  I think Dad’s plan was to do more scouting than hunting on Sunday. 
We dropped the Weasel off at his hunting spot, and then had a very important discussion with him.  We agreed that we would pick him up ..10:30 A.M...  This is important to remember.  Dad and I drove down the road a few miles, turned left, and then drove another mile down the road.  Dad was driving very slowly down the road.  There were two reasons for this.  First the road is a dirt road, and a little bit rough.  Secondly, we were looking for a good place to park, and a good place to hunt.  Dad stopped the truck, looked around, and asked if this looked like a good place to hunt.  I said that it looked as good as anything else around the area.  After laughing a bit, we both agreed that it did look like a pretty good spot, and we were both glad that we happened upon it. 

So here it is day one of the hunting season, and we start getting our stuff ready.  It’s always weird getting ready on the first day of hunting.  You’re trying to remember where you put all your stuff, how the tree stand works, if you changed the batteries in your flashlight, and if you forgot anything else.  I personally feel really clumsy on opening day.  Like I’m trying to remember something I haven’t done in a long time.  Which is true, it’s been a year since I’ve done anything.  So I load up my hunting jacket up with extra shotgun shells and beef jerky.  I get my tree stand and shotgun, and follow Dad into the woods. 

We walk in the woods about 300 yards, find a good spot, and set up our tree stands.  We set up about 30 yards apart.  I face east, and Dad faces west.  That way we can cover all the area around us.  My tree-stand at that time was a ladder stand that was very easy to set up.  Dad had recently purchased a tree climbing stand that worked very well for him.  At this point it is about ..7:45 A.M...  I have to admit, at that time I was terrible at sitting still in a tree-stand.  After the first hour and a half I have to move around.  To really concentrate on hunting for three to three and a half hours can take a lot of mental strain.

So I sit in my tree-stand hunting.  Actually, I’m bird watching.  A few squirrels come out to play and pick up the freshly dropped acorns.  Then out of the blue I hear an explosion behind me.  I almost fall out of my tree stand.  I spin around to my right, and throw up my shotgun.  I hear and see a deer thrashing around.  There are small plants, vines, and thorns that this deer is crashing through.  My mind can barely comprehend in the split second that this is all happening what is occurring.  The deer doesn’t have use of its front legs, and I’m not sure if Dad actually shot it.  Before I can even get my gun aimed on it Dad fires again, and knocks the ever loving hell out of that deer.  The shot took it off its feet, and literally threw it into some vines.  It was definitely dead at that point.  I almost jumped out of my tree-stand, and ran over to it with my shotgun staring it down.  If it moved I wanted to be able to put it down.  I checked the eyes, and kicked it.  It was dead.  Dad got down out of his tree stand, and we rejoiced.

Up until this point, Dad had missed a number of deer.  I don’t want to say exactly how many so as not to embarrass him.  He did get a number of hogs during that time.  It was funny, he hit all but one hog during that time, but missed every deer.  So it was at that moment we chest bumped, high fived, hugged, and yelled a bit.  His missed deer streak came to an end. 

Now we hadn’t had to skin a deer in quite a number of years.  It’s always at that point that you realize that you’ve spent all this time trying to get a deer, now you think, “What the hell do I do now?”  We agreed that I would take the tree-stands and my gun back to the truck, and get the knives, gloves, and other supplies for gutting the deer. 


Dad had shot the deer at ..9:45...  By the time I had gone back to the truck, and gotten back, it was after ..10:00...  We then had to drag the deer to a good tree so we could gut it.  So it was about ..10:10.. when we started to gut it.  By the time we had finished it was ..10:30...  Then we dragged it back to the truck.  In other words we would drag it one-hundred yards, and then take a breather, and repeat.  So it was ..10:45.. when we got to the truck.  Then we had to organize everything, change some of our clothes, pour water and ice into the gut cavity of the deer. 

By now it is ..11:00 A.M..., and we do the last thing we need to do.  We leave the tailgate open and tie the deer down to it.  We put it there because once we get to the check station we have to check the deer in, weigh it, and the Game Warden has to put his tag on it.  So by the time Dad starts up the engine, it is ..11:05...  This is kind of a problem since we were supposed to pick the Weasel up at ..10:30...  Since the deer is on the tailgate Dad drives down the dirt road very slowly. 

The funny thing about the Weasel is that he has been late for everything we have ever planned.  I’m not saying that to be mean, but it is true, and relevant to the story.  Dad and I are never late.  In fact, we are annoyingly early for everything.  So this leads to the problem that it is now ..11:15.., and we are 45 minutes late in picking up the Weasel.  Of course he can be late, but us?  No we could never be late.  That would be unthinkable. 

So we are driving up the road, and it happens.  I say to Dad, “I got an idea!”  I see the Weasel 500 yards down the road, and I now have the perfect prank.  The prank is not anything that we will do, but it is rather letting the Weasel give in to his natural state.  I then say to Dad, “Ok, we don’t say anything about the deer, just let him talk.”

Right now I want to state that the following exchange is absolutely true.  Please remember that there is a dead 4 point buck tied down to the back of the truck’s tailgate. 

We pull up to the Weasel.  He is sitting on the left-hand side of the road as we drive up.  He’s about 5 yards off the road sitting on a small folding chair that is made for hunters to carry in the woods.  He also has his gun and tree stand.  As we pull up he is still on the left side of the road, and walks up to the driver’s side door.  Dad is behind the wheel, and I am on the passenger’s side. 

Weasel:  (Note:  He is whispering the following so as not to scare the game, even though the truck is running)  I was worried about you guys.  I was getting ready to start walking to the check station.  (Note:  The check station was only about two miles away, so that would only be a forty minute walk.  The Weasel used to be a serious jogger until shin splints got the best of him.  A two mile walk would be nothing for him.)

Me:  I’m sorry (Weasel).  Stuff happens.  Just things you can’t control.

Then Dad started B.S.ing like I’ve never seen.

Dad:  You know, I’ve always thought we should have a plan like this in case of an emergency.  We should have a plan on when to go to the check station.  Just in case one of us got hurt, and needed medical attention.  (Note:  At this point about a minute has gone by, and the dead deer is still on the back of the tailgate, and the Weasel has not noticed it.  Also, it is all I can do to not burst out laughing at everything that Dad is saying.)

Weasel:  Yeah, I saw some squirrels, and heard three does, and two bucks.  (Note:  Again, I don’t know how he manages to hear deer in broad daylight, and has yet to see them.) 

He then goes on about all the animals he heard, but didn’t see.  Then, he starts talking about where we should go hunting in the afternoon.  (At this point three minutes have gone by.  Same dead deer, same Weasel talking.)

Then the magic moment is at hand.  The Weasel starts to put his stuff up in the back of the truck.  But then, he turns back to us, and keeps talking.  I honestly can’t remember what he started talking about because it shocked me that this prank had gone on so long.  If my memory serves me correct he did get back on the subject of us being on time, and when we should go the check station. 

(It should be noted that at this time he has not asked us if we have seen or gotten anything.)

So now five minutes have gone by.  I am almost in disbelief that this prank could have possibly gone on this long.  Then comes the magic moment, the Weasel says he’s going to put his stuff up.  He walks to the back of the truck, and sees the deer.  It was like hooking a fish.  His knees bent, his head went back, and he yelled, “Ughhhh!”  Then came those magical words.

Weasel:  You guys are assholes!

At this point Dad and I start laughing uncontrollably.  Then it comes again.

Weasel:  You guys are assholes!

I fall to the floorboard of the truck almost screaming with laughter.  After about 30 seconds I am having trouble getting enough oxygen, and my vision is starting to blur.  Dad isn’t doing much better.  His eyes are watering, and he can’t contain himself.  We end up laughing for a good two minutes straight.  
We finally manage to get out of the truck, and tell the Weasel how Dad got the deer.  We got all of the Weasel’s stuff loaded, checked the deer into the check station, and cut it into pieces so it would fit in a cooler.  Later on that day we scouted around for more locations to hunt. 

The funny ending to this story is when we made the joke about us (Dad and me) being assholes, the Weasel denied calling us assholes.  Dad had to correct him, and tell him he didn’t just call us assholes.  He called us assholes twice. 

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