Since there have been no posts since hunting season, I thought I'd tell you all a funny story that happened to me when I first started hunting in Kentucky.
Until a few years ago, if you killed a deer in this state, you had to take it to a Fish and Wildlife check station and have it registered. I was invited to hunt with my partner David and his brothers. We had about eight farms we could hunt (before farmers discovered they could make money leasing their land to hunters). David and his brothers drove deer the way we do in the Adirondacks. We would start hunting about daylight and have enough places to hunt to last us until three or four in the afternoon. Because there was a large population of deer in Kentucky and they were doing so much damage to crops, the landowners wanted us to shoot all we could.
David and I took the whole ten days of deer season off to hunt. Opening morning, I was on a watch and was told to shoot everything that came out to me. A big ten pointer and a doe came out and I killed them both. Altogether, we killed three bucks and two does on that first drive. For me, I thought the hunting season was ruined because I had nine days left and no tags. David spoke up and said that for a case of warm Sterling beer (rot gut) his uncle Howard would tag my deer.
We drove over to his uncle's house and David went in to get Uncle Howard. He came out of the house leading a ninety year old man, whose eyes were white with cataracts. Uncle Howard was totally blind! I gave David one of those, "I don't believe this shit," look, and he whispered, "Trust me!"
We loaded Uncle Howard into David's Blazer and took him to the check station. David led him into the station with me following. I knew we all were going to jail and be out of work to boot. The conservation officer looked up and Uncle Howard told her he had some deer to check in. She said, "Got some again this year, Howard?" "I surely did," replied Uncle Howard. The officer went out to the Blazer and looked over the deer and came back in for Howard to sign the paperwork. The lady had to take Uncle Howard's hand and place it on the form for him to sign. Uncle Howard signed with an X, since he couldn't read or write. After we dropped Uncle Howard off, I asked David how in the living hell we pulled that one off. David said, "Did you notice the bulge in the back pocket of Uncle Howard's bib overalls?" I said that I didn't. David said, "That was Uncle Howard's .32. Nobody messes with Uncle Howard when he is carrying his .32." Several days later, I was having breakfast with the Captain of our local State Police post. I asked him if he had ever heard of Uncle Howard. Captain Mort told me that Howard was notorious when he was young and had been involved in several gun fights which was not uncommon in rural Kentucky in the old days. Capt. Mort said that the old timers say that Howard was not one to "trifle" with. Judging from the way the conservation officer handled the deer registration, I'd have to say that the Captain and David were telling the truth.
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