The Cowboy Snipe Hunt

“Heck fire, he cain’t be no cowboy without a snipe hunt under his belt!”

Right then and there I decided I’d show them two old fools. I made my way down by Little Piney crick where a flock of turkeys liked to roost at night. As I neared the old oak tree, I had to walk ‘round it a few times to finally see the dark form of one against the gray night sky. I slowly bent down, so as not to alarm them big birds, and picked up a nice big snow covered stone. I brushed the freshly fallen snow from the rock, drew back my arm and threw as hard as I could at that sleepin’ turkey.

I was fit to be tied as the bird fell, deader than last years Christmas goose. I picked the big bird up and then gave a loud scream. I had to get those two old bulls away from the fire, so I could turn the tables jus’ a might. I moved up the trail quickly and ducked under the low branches of a large pine tree as I heard them a-comin’.

“Zee, iffen that boy is hut ‘er daid, I’m gonna be all over yer behind!” Slim said brusquely as he ran down the trail.

“Slim, ya knowed I was a-doin’ it and ya thought it was funny too! So, don’t be on my hind-end ‘bout that boy. Ya and me both know they ain’t nothin’ out movin’ in this weather, man nor critter.”

As soon as they moved further down the trail a might, I made a bee line straight fer our campsite. Once there, I moved behind some oaks and quickly gutted and skinned that turkey. I didn’t get all the feathers, but that wasn’t real ‘portant any ways. As soon as that bird was cleaned, I put ‘er on a spit and stuck ‘em over a hot bed of coals from our fire.

For the better part of two hours Zee and Slim hunted fer me out in that cold weather and they constantly called out my name, but I didn’t make a sound. Oh, I hear’d ‘em jus fine, but it was pay back time. Finally, I guess they gave up and I heard ‘em returnin’ to the campsite, so I pretended I was sleepin’ as they walked up.

“Cy, didn’t ya hear us a-callin’ yer name? It’s colt out there!” An angry Zee asked as he stood over the fire and extended his open palms to the heat.

I slowly opened my eyes and sat up as I said, “I guess I was sleepin’ fellers. I didn’t heah a thang. Pard’s, huntin’ snipe is hard work.”

Slim, who had been behind Zee, gradually made his way to the fire and immediately noticed the big bird cookin’ over the coals. Lookin’ at me in total disbelief he asked, “Cy, what is that a-cookin’?”

“It’s one of them snipes, Slim. When that big ole thang run inta my bag, why, it knocked me on my backside. It was Myrtle bar the door fer a spell there. I wasn’t shore who had who, me or the bird.”

I noticed both Zee and Slim exchange questionin’ looks and knew then I had to carry the joke a bit further. I bent over, picked up my skinnin’ knife and cut a big piece of meat off the breast of that huge snipe. I handed the meat to Zee and, of course, I had to cut ‘nother piece fer Slim. As they ate the bird, I watched as big smiles started to form on both of their homely faces.

Finally, Zee broke the silence with, “Dang me, Slim, iffen this heah snipe don’t remind me of turkey meat.”

Slim chewed his meat for a minute ‘er two and then replied, “Yep, she shore does. I thank a feller could learn to like eatin’ snipe birds.”

“Yep, I was jus’ thinkin’ that. Beats the dickens out of sowbelly and beans fer supper.”

I looked up at both men, gave a big toothy grin and said, “Well, I’m glad to heah that fellers, ‘cause since I was all alone out there, I could only get us one bird. How ‘bout tomorrow night, I do the drive and ya two catch the birds?”

Zee gave a loud hoot, slapped his right knee, and said, “By golly, we’ll shore do ‘er son, I do like the taste of these snipes!”

So, yer wonderin’ iffen them two went out the next night ‘er not, ain’t ya? Well, that’s ‘nother story fer ‘nother time. Like I done told y’all, I ain’t got much money, but I have some memories that make me a rich man. I ain’t gonna spend ‘em all in one place neither. Next time y’all can get away from the telly-vision, ‘puter, ‘er them video games, try makin’ a few memories of yer own. And, ‘nother good thang ‘bout memories is ain’t nobody can steal ‘em neither, so ya’ll be the onliest owner. Mayhap one day ya’ll share some of your-un with me. Take care and don’t spit into the wind.

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