Bob Wright
Hawkeye
I posted this story on FaceBook and folks seemed to like it, so I'll run it up here.
My hunting companions, all dead now, were my son-in-law, his dad, and his grand father. His grandfather, old Mr. Vick, had once been a commercial hunter, supplying the restaurants around Water Valley, Mississippi.
On day we had been out in the woods, late fall, still warm days. We had had no luck that day, and began coming out of the woods. Mr. Vick related how he had had a big old cottonmouth approach him as he waited for the bushy tails. He related how he had taken his pocket knife and cut a branch big enough to club the coottonmouth to death.
"Why didn't you shoot him, Grandaddy?" asked my son-in-law.
"Didn't want to waste a shell," was his reply.
Bob Wright
My hunting companions, all dead now, were my son-in-law, his dad, and his grand father. His grandfather, old Mr. Vick, had once been a commercial hunter, supplying the restaurants around Water Valley, Mississippi.
On day we had been out in the woods, late fall, still warm days. We had had no luck that day, and began coming out of the woods. Mr. Vick related how he had had a big old cottonmouth approach him as he waited for the bushy tails. He related how he had taken his pocket knife and cut a branch big enough to club the coottonmouth to death.
"Why didn't you shoot him, Grandaddy?" asked my son-in-law.
"Didn't want to waste a shell," was his reply.
Bob Wright