Good lord, this brings back memories. Didn’t think I’d ever see this rig again, but that just shows to go ya.
Seems like just yesterday @bosshoss3406pack came down to Fort Stockton for a deer huntin’ weekend and I’m pretty sure this is what he was drivin’, but then we were so tanked up over at The Lucky Lady the night before, he could have been in a Harley with a sidecar for all I know. No, it was a Dodge Ram 3500 Laramie SLT Club Cab, ‘cause I remember thinkin’ to myself, ‘That’s too damn many words just for a name. Need an extended bed just to carry all the letters around.’ No tellin’ how Mable over at the DMV ever could have filled out the form for a Texas title if BH340 had bought it over at Cactus Dodge / RAM / Imperial here in town. But then, ‘bosshoss3406pack’ doesn’t just roll off the tongue either, does it? Just the same, by the end of that night I wasn’t sure if we were gettin’ up early to hunt ram from a John Deere, or hunt deer from a Dodge Ram.
Anyway, I met BH340 over at the Naughty Pine Motel before sunup the next morning. Was taken by surprise when Lucinda answered the door after I knocked on it about thirty times. I didn’t say a word, since she had a Thermos full of pippin’ hot Folgers already packed. Apparently she’d been up a while. Looked like she’d been nekked shortly before comin’ to the door.
We haul arse over to The Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, BH340 realizing’ he’d left his deer blind at home. I didn’t think we really had time, but a man with a dually RAM can be pretty persistent. We get there, he goes in and asks Rusty for a bunch of four by twos. “Don’t you mean two by fours,” Rusty asks him. He comes out to the Dodge. We talk.
He goes back in and says, “Yeah. That’s what I meant.” Rusty asks him how long he’s going to need ‘em. He comes back out to the truck. We talk. He goes back in. Says, “We’re gonna leave the deer blind out there for next season, so I’m guessin’ we need ‘em for a long time.”
We load up the lumber, drive west on Highway 10, half way to damned Balmorhea, and he pulls off a dirt road and drives till I need to pull over for the third time to answer nature’s call. Finally pulls off the road and up to a rusty gate. Another twelve miles on a dirt path and he pulls under the only tree in sight, a mangy mesquite that wouldn’t be enough for a male dog to lift his leg on. That’s where we commence to building the blind.
Short story long, within twenty-four hours we’d bagged three of the biggest bucks you’ve ever seen. The carcasses were in the bed of the Dodge, making’ it look hornier than a submarine sailor after a six month tour of duty. We start headin’ back to Fort Stockton, and that’s where things really get interesting. About four miles north of Highway 10, there’s nothin’ but red lights and sirens behind the Dodge. Fast as a Dodge Ram 3500 Laramie SLT Club Cab Cummins Dually 4X4 is, there’s no way it’d outrun the Mustang Police Interceptor the Game Warden’s drivin’, so BH pulls the pickup over to the shoulder.
Game Warden is wearing a pair of them mirrored sunglasses, where all you can see is your own face lookin’ back atcha. It’s unnerving, which is why they do it, I suppose. He looks in the back of the truck and sees the carnage. “I suppose you got a hunting license, don’t you?” he asks. BH340, grinnin’ like a possum, reaches into his alligator skin billfold and pulls out a valid Texas hunting license. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then, the Game Warden lifts the tail of the second buck. Takes a big whiff. Says, “This here ain’t a Texas buck. He’s from New Mexico. “You got a New Mexico huntin’ license?” At this point, BH reaches into the glove box of the Dodge and pulls out a New Mexico license, laughing like he was at a Larry the Cable Guy concert.
The Warden ain’t happy. He sniffs the arse of the third buck. Says, “This here animal is from Oklahoma. You got a license to hunt Oklahoma game?” BH reaches under the passenger seat, which makes me kind of nervous cuz I’m still sittin’ in it. Pulls out an Oklahoma huntin’ license. Almost doubles over when he hands it to the Warden.
This is where the story takes a turn.
The Warden’s madder than a wet hen. Says, “Boy, just where the hell you from?”
BH has me hold his beer. Drops his pants and turns around, his bare butt cheeks up in the air and says, “You tell me!”
2 responses to “DEER HUNTIN’ RAM”
That was One Jefe of a Truck, I gotta tell y’all. Instead of an Ol’ Harley, like Robert Boehm’s, the Ram’s Bed was Big Enough to Load my Jefe Caballo Scooter powered by the ZZ-4 Small Block.
Speaking of ‘four by twos’ … That Kinda Reminds me of a Story.
I Remember trying to Train a Young Man to become a Home Builder. My Young Protege was gonna pour a driveway and needed some Form Lumber… The Supplier’s Manager called me and said,
“Your New Kid just ordered some 3/4 X 3 ½’s… WTF?”
When Questioned, New Kid said, “Well, what do you call it? That’s What It Measured!”
I said, “1 X 4”
Yep, lumber is like male…ummm…nether regions: “I don’t care WHAT the tape measure says!”