I was walking out to go home the other night. St. Francis was walking with me, as we had parked pretty close together. Just shooting the breeze about the night and cutting up like we always do.
St. Francis drives a medium sized pickup truck. As we got up to it, I noticed that there was something in a paper grocery sack in the bed of his truck, partially covered with a somewhat nasty looking towel. Heck, I figured it was something he had put in there.
St. Francis throws his belt in the front of the truck, then looks in the back and says "What the heck is this?"
I had no idea, and told him so. Like I said, I thought it was his. So he dumps over the bag and out rolls a deer head, antlers and all. He jumps back and says "Yaaaah! What the hell?"
Of course, he looks at me. I say "Hey man, I don't hunt. It wasn't me!"
We look a little closer. Severed deer head. Maybe a four-pointer. Tongue hanging out. Definitely dead. Yup.
He picks it up by one antler and says "Somehow I don't get a real secure feeling from this. Do you think it's a message?"
I, of course, immediately think of "The Godfather" and say "Maybe it's a threat. Or a warning."
Well, that does nothing to make him feel any better about the whole thing. I figure "My work is done here" and I toddle off to climb in my own truck.
Checking the back thoroughly first, though.
As I'm leaving he's standing by the side of the road waving that deer head at the cars going by yelling "Hey! Look what I got!"
I swear, spending an entire shift with that man is like living through a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I always count my blessings when I don't get a piano or an anvil dropped on my head.
Oh Lawsy. Tomorrow is Bean Day. I guess that means that I'm not going to be spending too much time in the shack tomorrow. Those boys and beans don't mix well. Not if you want to keep on breathing, anyway. Phew!
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