Ten things I like about me #3

I have never spoiled a good story for the sake of the truth.

I like that my creativity and plyfulness helps me to make up good stories. I often start with a grain of truth, shine it up a bit, and give it a good finish.

For example: When my dad was a carefree bachelor, he and his buddies would go camp out for a week at the start of deer season. When he got married, he saw no reason to change his habits, so when deer season opened, he kissed Mom goodby and disappeared for a week, returning with a deer, a hangover, a week's beard, and a set of socks so dirty that they would stand up by themselves.

Mom, as a new bride, didn't much care for being abandoned for a week like that, so she demanded that the next deer season, he would have to take her along.

Dad talked with his huntin' buddies, and they figured that they would let her come, but make the trip so miserable that she would never want to go with them again. So the first morning, they decided to put her on a stake-out. They had her sit on a stump at the top of a ridge, and they promised they would go down in the surrounding canyons and drive all the deer up to her. Then, when she had shot one, she should fire two more shots into the air and they would come and help her dress it out. Actually, though, they all intended to go back to camp, have a few beers, maybe go hunting off in the other direction altogether. September in central Oregon is cold enough to freeze the hickies off a prom queen. Sitting all day long in the cold is a crappy way to spend the day. Sleeping on the ground, drinking camp coffee and eating camp food should just about finish her off.

So just at frosty sunrise they got her settled on her stump, and laughing at their cleverness, the lads trooped down the hillside. Suddenly the morning peace was shatered by a rifle shot, a pause, and two more shots.

"Well damn! Sounds like she got something." So Dad hiked back up to where he had left Mom, and there she was with a guy backed up against a tree and her rifle in his stomache. He was sweatin' hard and talkin' fast, sayin' "Ok lady. I won't argue with you no more. It's your deer. You shot it, you can have it. Could I just get the saddle off it first?"