walking arsenal
Member
The story goes like this. Years ago my grandfather read a poem called The Luck of The Buck, at least thats the name he remembers it by. It was written by S. Omar Barker (SP?) and he, along with the rest of my family, have been searching for the poem in it's original form ever since. No luck so far. So, if anyone knows were to find it i'd sure apreciate a copy. It would make my grandads day.
Now.
Since we could never find the poem and old Gramps time is drawing short, my dad rewrote it for gramp figuring Barker wouldn't mind. It includes most of the hunters of my family in it and the story of "OL'Dick the biggest deer in our woods. We set out to get shoot this monster every year but it never happens. The only orignal part of the poem is the first two paragraphs, the rest is new.
The Luck of a Buck
(ahem)
Twas mid november and the air was chill when two big bucks came over the hill.
Their huge, sharp hooves cut through the snow like biscuit cutters cut biscuit dough.
(added part)
The home-town boy, we'll call him mack, was bagged by Dave Senior he's still got the rack!
The other big fellow, we call him Old Dick, was never brought down he's too smart and too quick.
But he's had lots of sons and we hunt them each year. They all have a story and i'll tell you some here.
Dave Jr. got one son stepping out of the green and, next to Ol' Dick, he's the nicest i've seen!
He was pulled to the barn, but not with the tractor, he Pulled Van Berg right up to the rafter! (His coat got stuck on an antler as we were hoisting it up to skin it.)
Jim got one son too, though it might have been Mack's, a devil so tough he was gut with an ax!
He had to shoot quick and he levered so fast, the M94 jammed and that shot was his last.
And then there's Ol' Stever how big was his buck? That's a whole 'nother story, he's had no such luck.
His gun wouldn't shoot or he just didn't see, Ol' Dick sneak right past as he slept in his tree.
That brings us to Kritter who's shot not one, but two! And she would have got more, except for a screw. (it kept her from opening the window in her stand)
Her old brother Dan, too, got a son of Ol' Dick. And the way he did it was really quite slick.
That buck was way out there but Danny still got him, 'bout one quarter mile from the stand he shot from.
The years come and go, and to give each their due. I must add a word of thanks to the crew.
Young steve hauls 'em in and Gram cuts 'em up. The hides go for gloves and the scraps to the pups.
They'll all have a story, the old and the new, we'll hear Dan and Mary's, Steve and Christophers too.
And year after year we'll give Ol' Dick a try, but if truth's to be told we'd all let him walk by.
Now.
Since we could never find the poem and old Gramps time is drawing short, my dad rewrote it for gramp figuring Barker wouldn't mind. It includes most of the hunters of my family in it and the story of "OL'Dick the biggest deer in our woods. We set out to get shoot this monster every year but it never happens. The only orignal part of the poem is the first two paragraphs, the rest is new.
The Luck of a Buck
(ahem)
Twas mid november and the air was chill when two big bucks came over the hill.
Their huge, sharp hooves cut through the snow like biscuit cutters cut biscuit dough.
(added part)
The home-town boy, we'll call him mack, was bagged by Dave Senior he's still got the rack!
The other big fellow, we call him Old Dick, was never brought down he's too smart and too quick.
But he's had lots of sons and we hunt them each year. They all have a story and i'll tell you some here.
Dave Jr. got one son stepping out of the green and, next to Ol' Dick, he's the nicest i've seen!
He was pulled to the barn, but not with the tractor, he Pulled Van Berg right up to the rafter! (His coat got stuck on an antler as we were hoisting it up to skin it.)
Jim got one son too, though it might have been Mack's, a devil so tough he was gut with an ax!
He had to shoot quick and he levered so fast, the M94 jammed and that shot was his last.
And then there's Ol' Stever how big was his buck? That's a whole 'nother story, he's had no such luck.
His gun wouldn't shoot or he just didn't see, Ol' Dick sneak right past as he slept in his tree.
That brings us to Kritter who's shot not one, but two! And she would have got more, except for a screw. (it kept her from opening the window in her stand)
Her old brother Dan, too, got a son of Ol' Dick. And the way he did it was really quite slick.
That buck was way out there but Danny still got him, 'bout one quarter mile from the stand he shot from.
The years come and go, and to give each their due. I must add a word of thanks to the crew.
Young steve hauls 'em in and Gram cuts 'em up. The hides go for gloves and the scraps to the pups.
They'll all have a story, the old and the new, we'll hear Dan and Mary's, Steve and Christophers too.
And year after year we'll give Ol' Dick a try, but if truth's to be told we'd all let him walk by.
