The Doe-bot of Foggy Bottom


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illinoisdeerhunter
July 27, 2007, 11:53 AM
I saw another member's story thread. I too am a teacher and amature writer.
Hope you like it!

The Doe-bot of Foggy Bottom


I lay there in bed with my OTHER leg in traction and a bandage on my head, recounting the order of events that led to me bein' laid up in the Foggy Bottom Hospital and Retirement Home.

"You want me to do WHAT, Jed!!???"

"Dear, it's the only favor I've asked you all fall." was my reply to my lovely wife.

OK, the deer season wasn't turning out the way I'd planned. Between breaking my first leg in the 43rd Annual, Foggy Bottom Township Three Legged Race and wrenching my shoulder in October, in the Bi-County Greased Pig Contest, I was pretty banged up. It was the least she could do, wasn't it? I mean, heck, a couple of years ago when Thelma, that's my wife, twisted her ankle stepping off the stage after winning "Ms. Hefty Heifer of Foggy Bottom", me and the boys drug her back to Ole Roy, my pickem up truck, and tossed her...well, er...ok it weren't quite a toss, it were more like a, well, like a HEFT... hefted her into the back of Ole Roy. She owed me and the boys BIG TIME!

Ya know, it was all Clay's idea. He was the one who saved up the deer hides. He was the one who kept buggin' the tar out of the rest of us. Yup, Clay's the self made Edison of our gang!

"I GOT IT!!!" That's what Clay hollered a couple of years ago. "We can MAKE a decoy out of REAL deer hides! YOU KNOW, the kind that moves it's head and wiggles it's tail!"

"What in the wide world of sports would you want to do that for?" Bubby blurted.

Now Bubby, he's one of the boys. But Bubby, he ain't too smart. Why Bubby's so slow one time Clay came across him draggin' a deer out backards. "Bubby, ya know, if-in' ya grab 'im by his antlers he'll drag a lot easier." I do believe that's the 'zact words Clay said he used. Course Clay had to skeedaddle to fetch his'n own buck.

It was, I'd say two hours later, back at the cabin, me and Clay were kicked back, playin' cribbage sippin' on some of my home-made raisin wine from a Green Label, Jack Daniels bottle and Clay sayz, "Bubby, why don't you git up and fetch some more wood for the stove it's gittin' a might chilled in cheer? Bubby? BUBBY?? Oh My Gawd Jed! We forgot about Bubby!"

"Where in tarnation is he?" I asked.

"Awe heck, I fergot! Bubby's dragging a buck out of the timber!" It was near midnight by the time we caught up to Bubby. Yup, he shore did start dragging the buck by the head. He was shore 'nuff wuz getting farther away from the cabin. Like I said, sometime, he ain't too smart.

Anyways, we finally got Bubbyís buck in the bed of Ole Roy, it was a lot easier than loading Thelma as the buck wasn't kickin' and screamin' out curses, and we piled in the front. We was crossin' Foggy Creek and I hit a mud puddle and got mud splashed up on my leg through the hole in the floor board when it hit ole' Edison himself.

"We can make a deer decoy out of real deer hides!"
As I stopped to get out and empty the mud outta my left boot he kept it up. "The head will move, the tail...the, the... HECK, I can make it so it puts its head down like itís eating! I can put a kay-set tape in it so it will bleat! Heck, I can make it so it will walk around!"

"Clay, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard of, makin' a decoy that can walk around." was my ever so quick-witted reply.

Yup, Clay spent the rest of the fall gathering deer hides for his robot deer project. He got his first proto-type together in February. It had a wire remote just to "flip" the tail. Clay set it up in his back yard to test it. He rolled out the hundred foot of wire to his door and proceeded to... get a phone call from one of those telemarketers with the fake southern drawl trying to sell ya a new subscription to Buckmasters Magazine. If'n it was like the times they call me, Clay musta been on that phone for dang near an hour tryin' to convince that feller he didn't need a 10 year subscription and another knife with a gut hook to add to the other four dozen knives he don't use. I guess he kinda got distracted 'cause when he went back to test the "DOE-BOT", as he got to calliní it, Junior Collins, his neighbor, already had his sights on what he thought was easy pickins. Taking a deer out of season is nothing for Junior. Funny thing about Junior is, he always had a fancy for BIG guns and, well, he insists on hunting with a .458 magnum even when heís poachin. Iím thinking he enjoys pain myself. Well when Clay hit that button to "wiggle" the DOE-BOT's tail, it just so happened that Junior squeezed the trigger. KABLAM!!!!!!!!! DOE-BOT #1 was history.

DOE-BOT#2 didn't last much longer. Clays own hound, Festus, took care of her. In the ensuing stalk and pounce, festus got the shock of his life or death as it turned out. See, Clay wired up #2 to 120volts. The funeral announcement for Festus listed cause of death as a hunting accident but, the whole county knows the REAL truth. Clay decided after #2, electricity weren't the way to go. That's when he mentioned...Thelma.

"You're not about to get me to dress up like a deer for your hunting pleasure."

"But Thelma, with my leg in a cast, and my bum shoulder, I could sit right cheer on the back stoop and reach out and touch that buck over there in the corner of the hay field. But I gotta get ole Drop-Tine to the corner of the field. Clay's DOE-BOT#3 will work if-n' you'd let him fit you for it!"

When outta nowhere...Thelma took a Hank Aaron sized swing at me with a frying pan. But I out quicked her for sure, that time. She just got a glancing blow. I know that cause I didn't pass out right away. I recall flying off the porch, that is until I was over taken by that wonder of nature, gravity. Once gravity figgered out it could have it's way with me, in my head over heel's semi-conscious state, the flying stopped and the falling commenced. Now, fallin' ain't a bad think, it's the quick stop at the bottom that gets ya. The first portion of my massive 125 pounds of rippling muscle to connect with something besides air was...my good leg.






Thelma loves those yard ornaments and her favorite one WAS the pee-in' statue next to her carp...er...Coi pond, (don't tell Thelma but I think they's just fancy carp myself). Somehow my foot, in my pre-orbital spinning state, got stuck between that peein' statue's body and arm, the arm that WAS holdin' his...uh...well... you know, his THANG. This order of events caused an irrevocable action that I truly wish had not come to pass as my foot getting stuck in that dang peeing statue's arm caused an even tighter rotation of my carnal being.

LeRoy Johnson, my neighbor, saw the whole thing, I heard. Word is he couldn't decide if I looked more like one of those Olympic gymnasts coming off of one of those spring boards or the cat we launched with the clay pigeon thrower last summer.

Anyways, as the resistance from the statue began to assert its authority on my ever-so-temporary GOOD leg, I heard, and felt, by the way, a crunching "POP". That was right before my face felt the beginnings of the introduction of the rest of my body into Thelma's carp pond, (now that I think about it, go ahead and tell Thelma I said they're carp!) As motion gave way to stillness, I ended up with new joint in my good leg that didn't feel so good any more, and an orange and white carp firmly lodged, head first, in my mouth and wedged there by both my front teeth.

THAT, is when things got a little fuzzy and went dark.

And that's how I ended up in room #3 of the Foggy Bottom Hospital and Retirement Home, on the first day of my two weeks vacation from the feed mill, during the hunting season.

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