Tracks Through the Thicket

| December 25, 2008

A story about hunting raccoons near Turnersville, Texas in the 1970’s

(I will have to try and recreate this as the original was lost in the ether of cyber funk.)

The back of the land was a place loosely bordered by cedar fence posts and sagging barbed wire. I would make my way back to the fences and beyond, holding my Remington .22 pump like a vial of nitroglycerine, so as not to get a scratch or ding on it anywhere. There I would take my aim on hapless birds, rabbits and armadillos, not in a blood sport way, but just so I could see them closer up. I wanted to stop them just long enough to get a good long look, and unfortunately they became stopped forever. It made sense at the time, and there was no real counting of kills, or taking of meat or trophies.

Eventually,

OR
OR

To Be Continued – Part Three — And They All Fall Down

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Category: Culture on the Skids, Life Observed, OFF TOPIC, On The Road, Paid Reading Content

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I write. I photograph. I fish, and I live.

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