When I was in Jr High, we went out opening day of dove season. The ranch we hunted was owned by a 76yo pig farmer. The ranch was 20 miles from town. The highway gate was 5 miles from his house. Big ranch!
We pull up to house and the rancher met us at the door. This guy was 6'4", 300#, wearing a 10 gallon hat, lime green plaid, pearl snap, western shirt, orange Bermuda shorts, and cowboy boots, with big cigar stuck in his in mouth.
" I knew you would be out, come on in and have some ice tea. "
We go in and his 73yo wife has made cookies and has the table set up for us.
He is telling us about the ranch, which windmill we want to set up at and his wife pipes in; " I would like to ask you boys not to shoot my jackrabbits. " He shakes his head and laughs, " den woman gets up at 4:30, every morning, walks to highway, to the mailbox and back. She talks to them dad blamed rabbits and the dumb sum bitches follow her! She gets back from her walk and cooks breakfast for me and 40 ranch hands, then wakes me up. EXCEPT FOR YESTERDAY! She is returning from her walk and passing behind my old truck (2yo 1 ton dually) and rattlesnake buzzes. She jumps back and lets go with both barrels. (she carries a Savage 311 20ga on her walks, to shoot rattlesnakes and coyotes). Only problem is, the rattlesnake is between the duals, which he had bought new tires last week and blows both of them out, which wakes him up too early. "
She hollers out, from the kitchen, " you old coot, don't care a flip if I get snake bit, just moaning and whining about the cost of your flipping tires. "
We decided it best to leave.
BTW, went to windmill and all 3 of us had our limit in an hour and seen at least 50 jackrabbits, that didn't run from us.
