Author Archive for M. Toole

HUNTERS SHOOT HORSE

A Dream Shot of Some Consequence

a true story with Uncle Pahgre

(Delta) It all seemed to make sense, at first. A friend of ours, who shall remain very nameless, was awakened from his early winter hibernation by a loud pounding on his back door. He threw on a robe and stumbled in the direction of the interruption. When he opened the door he saw two men in blaze orange, heads hung down, shuffling their feet, serious about gaining his immediate attention.

     “We done shot your horse, mister,” said the first, “and we come to make reparations.

     The second man held out a wad of cash that turned out to be one hundred dollars in the company of four more bills of like currency.

     “Well, come in,” yawned my friend. “I guess that was the shot we heard earlier. This time of the year one gets used to guns going off all around. What the hell time is it anyway?”

     “Bout eleven,” whispered the first looking around the kitchen in the direction of assorted snores from the hallway.

     “You people hit the hay early round these parts, heh?” winked the second man who turned out to be from just outside Dallas.

     “We’re up here from Texas hunting and despite what you may have heard we’re responsible, respectable and accountable.”

     “Then what’s all this about a horse?” asked my friend.

     “Well, you remember the part about responsibility?” offered the first hunter. “That only goes so far, I guess. We’ve been prowling these hills for two weeks and ain’t seen nothing of an elk, unless you count the scat. We were frustrated. We were tired and hungry and headed back to a motel down the road when, just as dusk pulled up her skivvies, we saw movement in the hay field just north of here.”

     The first hunter went on.

     Jim here decided that it might be our last chance at glory so he took a chance. He sighted in and pulled the trigger. Blam! Then blam again. What a shot! Dropped that elk like a ton of greasy enchiladas on a Saturday night! Cow elk too, you know. No horns. And we each had a million-dollar tag right here in our pocket. Some shootin, Jim.”

     The second man just smiled, still embarrassed but yet a little bit proud of his expertise with a rifle.

     “We climbed your fence and snuck out to the kill which was dead as an armadillo after arm wrestling a semi on Highway 287. Then the problem emerged. It wasn’t a bull elk. No. It wasn’t a buck or doe, but neither was it a cow elk. It was your horse, mister.”

     My friend just stared at the kitchen table.

     “The old swayback. She was getting to be an old lady, too slow to ride much less dodge a bullet. Where is she now?”

     The two men laid the five hundred dollars on the table and told him the mare was still laying in the spot where she dropped. He sighed.

     “How am I going to get around reporting this to the authorities?” he asked.

     “We hoped the five hundred would help you make that decision. It ain’t a bribe but it’s a far sight more than that old girl was worth alive. We realize that local cops would put our buts in a sling over this episode but I think you can see that out hearts, if not our brains, are in the right place.”

     My friend yawned. He though to himself of a new tractor he needed. He thought of Christmas and his kids. He thought of the good it would do to turn these poor hayseeds into the pencil-pushing cops.

     “You boys want a cup of coffee? I gotta think this out. Tell me again, what made you shoot what you thought was game on private property at dusk. Don’t you ever read the back of your hunting license. Cripe, at the cost of the thing I’d think you’d memorize every word just in case you lost it.”

     The hunters went through their thinking process one more time dwelling on their fatigue and frustration. They apologized again saying that they wouldn’t blame my friend if he turned them in and pressed charges for trespassing and the whole cheroot.

     “OK, but if I ever see you on my land again you’ll be the horsemeat,” he said “Now can you find your way back to your motel or should I drive you?”

     They both laughed the laugh of men much relieved. They thanked him again and departed. He watched them as he pulled on his coveralls.

     “I hope that backhoe starts. I didn’t plug her in and the weather’s turned cold.”

     He stuffed the bills into his desk drawer, told his wife he had to check the cows and wandered into the night. He’d bury the mare before the rest of the family got savvy to what had occurred. He drove through the dark expecting a messy ordeal, then he saw the mound of flesh hugging the ground and approached.

     “What the hell?” he barked standing over the kill. “It’s an elk. Those morons shot a cow elk and from the looks of things it was a perfect lung shot. I’ll be dipped!”

     Thinking that the meat was still good he proceeded to dress out the elk there on the spot. The cold weather had kept it from going bad right away and the lung shot had insured that the meat wasn’t spoiled by adrenaline and trauma.

     “Hell of a shot,” he smiled. “Hell of a shot.”

     At dawn he woke up his oldest son who helped him cut up the elk and package it for the freezer. It would feed a lot of people a lot of nights this winter.

     “Does this mean we won’t be going hunting, dad?” asked the son on the way to school later that morning.

     “What makes you ask a question like that, son,” smiled our friend. “In fact I think we oughta stop by and look at that rifle down at the hardware store. It’s been fired a bit but they might let it go cheap  if we flash them some cash, heh?”

     “Whatever you day, dad.”

(Editor’s note: The San Juan Horseshoe in no way endorses withholding evidence from the law however until we can safely determine who the responsible parties might be we can tolerate temporary storage of such data. In closing this paper likewise does not ignore good karma, frontier justice, divine intervention or just dumb luck. In short: We suggest that one never look a gift horse (or elk) in the mouth, a part of the anatomy that should remain shut on a host of occasions.)

Arkansas Senator Denies the Existence of Oklahoma

Senator Tom Cotton of Arkansas denies existence of Oklahoma and he’s not sure about Texas. Calling human-driven climate change as a hoax was the primary denial but now he has expanded his personal enlightenment. Due to GOP victory the honorable senator to chair Committee on Environment and Public Works. A solid Trump supporter, Cotton Tom insists the US has the right to attack Venezuelan drug boats – even if all they have on board is aspirin. Blow them and their commie tuna boats back to Cuba he reportedly said without the help of his GPS.

Heaven and Hell Close to Prisoner Exchange

(Purgatory) Eternal powers, Paradise and Hades, have released a preliminary announcement detailing a likely prisoner exchange slated for November. The swap, taking most celestial watchdogs by surprise, is the first arrangement of this type in 1200 years.

On the heels of an announcement, heavenly players insist that some souls were mistakenly sent to hell and should not spend eternity there. Sources in hell, reluctant to release anyone enrolled in day labor or engaged in plea bargains, were mute on any specific developments saying only “something is in the wind”.

What heaven will do with a cult of once-indicted sinners and what hell might project as the future of former empyreal beings is not clear according to persons familiar with these events. Already “transfer souls” are bivouacked near the welcome stations of both afterlife precincts. Traditionalists call the reputed move cult-driven and question how the souls could be traded since they are invisible and often not responsive to earthly prodding.

“Deporting souls once accepted at the Pearly Gates will not go over well,” said one theologian. “Just when you thought you had it knocked they tell you you’re going downstairs. Frankly I am surprised that there has not been much resistance in heaven considering the desperate state of affairs. Maybe they don’t believe it will culminate in a realignment at all.”

The last night in hell should be a knock down, drag out celebration for the damned who are headed for an eternity of peace and joy. The effected  souls will have little time to readjust to the realities of both eternal destinations say proponents of the exchange. Hell has it’s high points and Heaven is no picnic. No, angels on both sides of the barricades will not be part of the controversial swap.

“Talk about being stuck in Limbo…I guess it’s either puffy clouds or pitchforks?”, said one consecrated source.

-Fred Zeppelin

FISH GET NEEDED BREATHER

(Ridgway) Local trout, who have enjoyed the time off over the past month due to bow and black powder hunting seasons as well as the gov’ment shutdown, are ready to get back to work Monday.

     “The reservoir is starting to freeze and we expect the ice fishermen to start arriving any day now,” said Ken Kokanee of Colona. “We look this season much like a hockey game. The only difference is that there’s a hole in the ice and half of the participants use fishing poles instead of hockey sticks. Also,” Kokanee spouted, “there’s no puck! Think of the fish as the puck.”

MATH CORONER

     If Governor Polis would have spent his campaign funds on beer instead of all that annoying television advertising this year, how many of the beverages would have been bought for each American over 21 years of age? Would he have gained a larger percentage of the popular vote this way? How would this have affected the electoral college in terms of square roots and all that? Is a gubernatorial candidate expected to provide snacks too?

     Write your answers on a bar napkin and send to Math Coroner, Potter Gazette, Pea Green, Colorado. The first person to answer these biting questions correctly will be, in turn, bitten by a member of our kitchen staff. In case of tie, all winners will be encouraged to run for President in 2028.

MIGHTY PACK RAT SAVES UTAH FAMILY FROM FIRE

(Ticaboo) A powerful packrat, allegedly super-charged by constant exposure to hybrid pest repellent, is credited with saving an Utah family from an all-consuming blaze that destroyed their house and barn last night.

The nocturnal rodent, an enthusiastic participant in communal living, apparently discovered the fire in the cellar of one of the dwellings and alerted the family who fled before the flames reached the first floor.

“Adrenaline was definitely in play,” said one local deputy. “This rat pulled steel beams, pushed through a crumbling retaining wall and chewed a hole in the roof to relieve smoke damage all while scurrying below the smoke and certain asphyxiation. We have pictures from the structure’s security system. I know it sound stupid but that rat was some kind of body builder, he frowned.

“We don’t know how this loving rescue will affect the status of the hated pack rat in rural environs,”added a fireman on the scene. “These gnawing bastards have had a public relations problem since the Plague and before.”

It was not known if the family and the rat knew each other.

-Suzie Compost

STATE TO JERKY FALL COLORS

(Denver) In an attempt to stretch the dramatic fall colors far into November state officials have implemented a plan to jerky aspen, oak and cottonwood trees still in their splendid state. Already teams of botanists have been busy in an attempt to isolate and expedite the most effective formula for the approved extension.

     “First we’ll focus on the aspens since they are far and above the most popular with autumn tourists,” said Melvin Toole who holds a third degree in Popular Venison Culture from Cal Amari. “The oak and cottonwood are far less fragile and we think we can jerky them later in the month and still come up with a hardy supply that may last through Thanksgiving.”

     The process of jerking the fall colors involves a lengthy drying process that has been proven to extend the life of other entities such as wild game and the terms of Congressmen. Aspen leaves in particular conform to the rigid properties necessary for the current jerk thinking.

     “We have experimented with canning and applied freezing since the Sixties,” says Toole. “What’s important is to harvest the chosen leaves and introduce them to our methods before the natural process takes hold. Rest assured that we have gone to great lengths to protect the birds and fury little animals who call the trees their homes. They have until tomorrow to evacuate.”

     Even though leaves and most bark samples are void of nutrition many desperate people tend to eat them come February or March when other supplies have been exhausted. Unlike leaves from tree farms, where an assortment of fertilizer and additives are employed, these wild trees offer supplement-free leaves, roots and bark.

     “Many mammals enjoy a diet comprised of mountain vegetation throughout the winter. We plan to test the jerky on herd animals, state prisoners and even fish before the snow falls,” said Toole. “We’ve already turned the bear on to the spicier blends and they liked it…of course they enjoy maggots as a tasty entre.”

     Residents and visitors are asked to stay clear of jerky operations until the end of the month when the Department of the Interior will join state agencies in presenting an open house to further explain their priorities. For a map of the more concentrated jerky operations contact the gov’ment agency of your choice.

– Small Mouth Bess