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Columns December 13, 2011  RSS feed

Tales from WannaBea Farm

Joyce Stark Joyce Stark Buzzard bait

Riding slowly through the woods on his new four wheeler, Fred was hoping he'd get a deer today, he'd only gotten one, so far this season, but he was feeling lucky today. Emma had given him his Christmas presents early, the new four wheeler and a great pair of warm, insulated hunting boots.

Pulling off the trail into a small clearing, he parked, grabbed his gun and his thermos of coffee, (he didn't go any where without his coffee) he started walking through the brush towards his deer stand.

"Good grief," he thought, "these boots may be warm but they sure are heavy." He was having a terrible time trying to walk in them. "Funny, I didn't notice how heavy they were at home."

He was panting by now and having a hard time breathing and he had only gone about 50 yards but he knew he was going to have to stop and rest before going any farther. Seventy plus years old and years of smoking had taken its toll on him and even though he'd quit smoking several years ago, he now had COPD and ran out of breath easily and these boots felt like they were dragging him down.

"But this is ridiculous," he thought, looking around for a stump or something to sit on. He sure didn't want to sit on that cold ground, plus he'd probably never be able to get back up. Spying a fallen tree, he stumbled over to it and sat down.

At least he was warm, as he should be, with several pairs of pants, four shirts, an insulated jacket and those darned boots on. He would have Emma return them to the store when he got home.

After resting a while he decided that he should be able to make it now, he was feeling much better. He stood, reached down for his thermos and lost his balance, sitting back down, hard, on the fallen tree before falling backwards, onto his back, his legs still up and over the tree, knocking the breath out of him.

Now this was worse than before. Now he was out of breath again, flat on his back with his legs more or less in the air and he could feel the cold ground beneath him. He tried to turn onto his left side but couldn't, tried again for the right side, but again couldn't roll over. He was like an upturned turtle and his breathing was getting worse.

He fumbled through his clothes for his emergency inhaler, cursing himself for putting it in the first layer of clothing. Finally he managed to reach it and bringing it to his mouth he breathed deeply as he pumped the inhaler.

"Aaaaah, that's better," he thought as he lay there on his back.

Suddenly he noticed a black object in the sky over him and squinting his eyes he realized that it was a BUZZARD, circling lower and lower above him. Now THAT gave him the incentive to get up and after a short struggle he managed to get to his feet again.

This time he went back to his four wheeler instead of his deer stand; he no longer felt like hunting today, and as he mounted it and turned towards home he flipped the bird at the bird.

Read my other stories at www.leoncountytoday.com

Joyce welcomes comments at jdstark18@yahoo.com

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