Hunting Humor

[BrokenolMarine]

I thought with Hunting Season fast approaching, I would share this humorous story with you guys to brighten your morning....

I get the Gun Cranks video every Friday and the topic this past Friday was Hunting Humor.

After my last two careers, I no longer hunt. I don't mind those who do, I have just chosen not too any longer. I did hunt as a youngster with my family. When I lived in Florida, we hunted a lot of squirrels and this often led to humorous encounters. Today's story involves my Stepfather's Squirrel Dog, an excellent Basset who was very skilled. She would spot a squirrel and stop and look back so that YOU knew she was locked on. When YOU came to the ready gun position and nodded she would run to the tree, as the squirrel had invariably run to the back side. One last look to make sure YOU were ready and she would dash to the back side and bark bark bark, the squirrel would run around to YOU and BOOM. The squirrel would fall to the ground and as gentle as a mother, she would retrieve your squirrel and bring it to the shooter to be put in the game pouch at the back of the shooting vest. She would sit at attention at your feet and receive her praise and pat on the head. (At the end of the shooting day, when the squirrels were cleaned, she got the leavings.)

My stepfather had gone out as first mate on the charter boat, and I had taken the dog out for squirrels as he wanted squirrel stew for dinner. I had two in the pouch and wanted a couple more. Hup, she was locked on and gave me the LOOK. Ready gun, and she confirmed. Off she went, bark bark bark. Squirrel appeared up came the 12 gauge double and BOOM... I rushed the shot. Hey, I was twelve. I missed now and then.

Around the base of the tree, a Basset Muzzle appears, and two disappointed Sad Eyes. The head disappears back behind the tree. Then slowly the head appears back around the tree with two disbelieving eye staring at me for about a minute, as if to say: "How could you miss?"

I was insulted, by a foot tall dog.

[BrokenolMarine]

Next: I know you all have at least ONE humorous hunting story.

[Centaur]

Years ago, a buddy and I would spend two weeks in a wilderness elk camp. Red hot chili was regularly on the menu. One morning after a big meal the night before, we were exchanging bugles with a big bull when the call of nature hit me in the worst way. We had the bull coming to us ready for a fight, but there was no holding back the inevitable. I hurriedly dropped my drawers and got down to business about the time the wind shifted. If the bull hadn’t got a whiff of us before, there was no doubt that he was about to. We never saw him, but we heard him crashing timber in his effort to escape the stench. I couldn’t blame him.
Another elk, another story. I called in a good bull that had to come up a steep incline where I was standing. I was camoed up and the wind was in my face. The first I saw him, he was less than 20 yards away, coming at a steady pace. He got to 6 feet of me, bugled, and I actually got some elk spit on me when he did. I couldn’t move or draw my bow, and he stood there forever, or so it seemed. Finally he either got my scent or just decided things weren’t right, and did an about face and went down the mountain with me standing there looking like an idiot. Such is elk hunting.

[cooperhawk]

An old hunting buddy and I were on a saddle between two peaks in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
We had hunted squirrels and ground hogs quite a bit but it was his first deer hunt and I was showing him the
ropes. The mountain was encased with fog, (or low hanging clouds), anyway, were hunkered down behind a
large dead fall drinking coffee and trying to stay out of the wind and warm. A very large buck came up behind us
and just a couple of feet away he scented us and gave a huge Whooooshhh! Two cups of coffee went strait
up into the air and I turned just in time to see him disappear into the fog.

When he finally got his first ever deer on the same saddle we offered to help him get it gutted and down the
mountain, but he wanted to do it all himself. Had to prove something I guess. Anyway he tied a rope to it when
it was gutted and headed down the mountain. If he had asked, one of us would have put a rope on the rear and
held it back going down, but he wanted to do it himself, so, it was a running contest trying to stay ahead of the
dead deer. Once down the mountain we turned the deer over and one side was bald from rubbing on stone.

He was an airline pilot and had to leave the next day for a two week tour. We hung the deer along with mine and
some others in my garage. After a few days it started to get warm and we were worried that the meat would spoil
so his wife and the other wives, (I was single at the time), all came to my house and we butchered the deer and
processed the sausage and such. A couple of days later he was due to fly home and his Wife asked if I would pick
him up at the airport as she had something else to do. When he saw me he asked where his wife was and I just
said she was busy so I said I'd come get him. As we pulled into his drive he asked me in for a drink, which I
agreed to readily, then I saw the table set for two, with candles, and venison steaks on the grill. Then I saw his
wife in a very nice nighty. I thanked him for the invite, and smiled as I left. I don't think her plans included me.

[BrokenolMarine]

Living on a lake chain, again in FL, we were invited to hunt for squirrels on PIG island by a local. We had to buy a stamp for the island, which cost only $2. The stamp, the Warden said, was just so they could explain that you could hunt the island but had to have a shotgun, and it had to shoot more than ONCE. Pig island got it's name because it was infested with PIGS and the boars could be mean. The shotgun had to contain a SLUG or BUCKSHOT to stop a charging boar. The fine for violating this rule was STIFF. (I wasn't hunting this time, just tagging along.)

Our guide carried a pump with the plug removed, and his last three rounds were slugs. He had killed three pigs over the years and TOOK them home. Every time he shot a squirrel, he loaded another round of shot. He kept that shotgun full.

My stepfather's shotgun was a double, and he had ONE birdshot and one slug, but two boxes of slugs in the vest, and two rows of birdshot on the chest of the vest. (An extra in the vest.) It was a good day for squirrels. We heard pigs off in the distance, but the boom of the shotguns kept them there.

Late in the afternoon, Stepdad took a shot at a squirrel and dropped him and another flushed from the nest... and without thinking, he swung and fired that slug in the second barrel. He was a very good shot and the squirrel EXPLODED... Fur drifted down.
I thought the local was going to bust a gut laughing.

"OMG," he said, "Was there a PIG in the tree?"

I was about eight at the time, and sat down laughing. I think I pee'd a little.