My first hunting trip was no laughing matter. Mostly because I got the living shit eaten out of me by rabid weasels. Here's how it started.
We arrived at the campground about 6 hours after departure. I saw a real big buck as soon as I got out of the car. I shot it an it died. I was pretty proud of myself. I imagined us driving home, me holding its antlers. People would look at me and ibwould look back with a look that said "Oh yeah. I killed this thing. I'm awesome." And they would look back with a look that said "Holy smokes! How did you manage that?" And I would just smile.
I asked my dad if he could carry it o the car, and he did. I would have been proud with just this. But then I realized somethig: if I could shoot one huge buck that fast, imagine how many more I could get. I tried to picture an army of deer corpses, limping around. That made me happy. So we stayed to hunt more. BIG MISTAKE.
After setting up camp, I went scouting around. I saw a dead rabbit's head from behind a bush. To be silly, I jumped up and grabbed it, ready to "kill" the corpse. Just then, I noticed tiny bite marks all over it. I looked down and was surrounded m
by weasels. I'm pretty sure they were rabbid, because they had white foam in their mouths an a crazed look in the eye I sometimes get when I'm really pissed off. They dove and I ran. But my 11-year-old legs weren't nearly fast enough to outrun weasels. They pounced on me. And I screamed for help.
When my dad arrived, the furry rodents of death ran off. He picked me up and decided it was time to go. So we packed up and tied my only kill to te top of the car.
Worst of all, my imagination of when people would look at me and I would smile didn't happen. In fact, no one seemed to care.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
How a bowl of cereal almost made my life terrible
The other day, I was fixing a bowl of cereal for my sister. I poured the milk and then was about to pour the cereal when my sister screamed at me and proceeded to violently punch me repeatedly in my back. I don't know why she was doing this. At first, I thought it might be a massauge. I turned around and saw that her eyes were filled with rage.
When I asked what the Hell she was doing, she said I "broke" her breakfast. I was confused by her unreasonable explanation that I'm supposed to pour the cereal first. I responded simply by saying "that's not the only way to do it." She continued to onslaught me with a barrage of tiny, weak fists. My mom comes over and asks what's going on. I explained the whole situation and you wouldn't believe what she did: grounded me for saying "Hell" in front of my sister, which she can say and get off free-of-charge. I then argued with my mom about whether or not my sister deserved punishment.
Me: "She was punching me!"
Mom: "You said a bad word!"
Me: "It's not bad, we say it in church."
Mom: "That is not true!"
Me: "But-"
Mom: "Grounded for a total of 4 weeks! Want another 2 more?"
At that point, I shut up and stormed up stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom picking up the phone. I didn't give a care who she was gonna call. All I knew is that I was in or a lot of trouble.
After school, when my mom got home, she had some papers to show me. They were for a mental asylum. Apparently, my mom thought I was insane for "arguing so fiercely", so she made me fill them out. After they were mailed out, I was sure my life was over. I began crying, hoping that everyone would leave me alone. But, being the guy tht I was, I sucked it up pretty quick and just sat in my room, waiting.
The next day, I waited, looking out the window, trying to spot a white, unmarked van. But instead, my dad came! Even though my parents were divorced, they relied on each other a lot. I knew my dad would see the truth.
When I came downstairs to greet him, he told me to go upstairs. I didn't understand. Were my seperated parents about to fight? I sat in my room, motionless, for 5 hours, before inwas called downstairs. Apparently, my dad "reminded" my mom that I was 14, so I was dealing with puberty. I was "going through emotional changes, only to act more different than ever". I praised my dad for his help.
From that day last week until I die, my dad will be who I call if I need help. Especially if I'm about to get locked up over a bowl of cereal.
When I asked what the Hell she was doing, she said I "broke" her breakfast. I was confused by her unreasonable explanation that I'm supposed to pour the cereal first. I responded simply by saying "that's not the only way to do it." She continued to onslaught me with a barrage of tiny, weak fists. My mom comes over and asks what's going on. I explained the whole situation and you wouldn't believe what she did: grounded me for saying "Hell" in front of my sister, which she can say and get off free-of-charge. I then argued with my mom about whether or not my sister deserved punishment.
Me: "She was punching me!"
Mom: "You said a bad word!"
Me: "It's not bad, we say it in church."
Mom: "That is not true!"
Me: "But-"
Mom: "Grounded for a total of 4 weeks! Want another 2 more?"
At that point, I shut up and stormed up stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom picking up the phone. I didn't give a care who she was gonna call. All I knew is that I was in or a lot of trouble.
After school, when my mom got home, she had some papers to show me. They were for a mental asylum. Apparently, my mom thought I was insane for "arguing so fiercely", so she made me fill them out. After they were mailed out, I was sure my life was over. I began crying, hoping that everyone would leave me alone. But, being the guy tht I was, I sucked it up pretty quick and just sat in my room, waiting.
The next day, I waited, looking out the window, trying to spot a white, unmarked van. But instead, my dad came! Even though my parents were divorced, they relied on each other a lot. I knew my dad would see the truth.
When I came downstairs to greet him, he told me to go upstairs. I didn't understand. Were my seperated parents about to fight? I sat in my room, motionless, for 5 hours, before inwas called downstairs. Apparently, my dad "reminded" my mom that I was 14, so I was dealing with puberty. I was "going through emotional changes, only to act more different than ever". I praised my dad for his help.
From that day last week until I die, my dad will be who I call if I need help. Especially if I'm about to get locked up over a bowl of cereal.
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