The truth of the matter is, there is only once or twice a year all four of us can get together and hunt. This weekend wasn't a hunting weekend though. This was a fill the feeders and plant the food plots weekend. The plan was to leave out early Saturday morning and be back Saturday afternoon around 5:30. Roughly about the time Steve gets off work so his wife wouldn't get suspicious. Just after the crack of dawn Saturday morning, about 9am local time, we met in town, loaded up in Bill's truck and headed out to Jack's place in central Texas. We took a couple of ATV's and a list of things to accomplish on this day of work. Shortly after arriving, we get the 1940 model Massey Ferguson tractor cranked, get the disk hooked up and head out to tear up some of the hardest soil known to Texas. Jack is the tractor man, there were better operators, but it was his tractor, I was the seed scatterer on my ATV, Bill was the drag man and Steve, well, lets just say Steve was in charge of refreshments. It wasn't long before we had a good chunk of land disked, seeded, and covered at each stand and next on the agenda was filling feeders.
Upon arrival back at the barn, Jack kills the tractor, hops down and begins to marvel and the job he has done disking our food plots. Just as he leans back against the hood of the tractor, Jack sticks his hand out and finds the muffler of Mr. Massey, still red hot and ready for unsuspecting day dreamers. Jack let's out a scream that can only be heard by canine breeds in the area and me and the other two do what any good friends would do in a time of distress. We fell on the ground laughing. Our friend was in pain and we were there to take advantage of it by doing what men do, making fun of the situation. If there's one thing women don't understand about men it's this. Guys will take any and every opportunity to laugh at each others expense. Whether it's pain, stupidity, carelessness, accidents, or all of the above rolled into one. After Jack finds an ice chest and soothes his second degree burns, we walk inside the barn and grab some lunch. After we eat, Jack finds some gloves to wear, I'm thinking why bother now but that's just me. As we load up our corn trailer we hear a squeaking sound. Nobody knows for sure what it is or where it's coming from but you can bet, we plan on finding, then exterminating it. Bill and Steve start pulling barrels away from the walls, I'm moving old feeders and unbeknownst to us, Jack is standing directly behind me with a shovel pulled back over his right shoulder just in case he sees movement from something other than us. As soon as something darted out from behind a barrel, Jack was planning on swinging for the fences. The only things that were gonna impede a grand slam swing from the mighty Jacky would be somebodies head, leg, chest or heaven forbid, groin area. Well, lucky for us, once Steve saw Jack winding up, job descriptions began to change. "Jack!! By the time you swing, whatever you're aiming at will be past you! Slowly back away and put down the shovel." Steve said. Potential disaster and another trip to the emergency room temporarily avoided.
Against the wall, Jack had cabinets that reached nearly to the ceiling of his barn. The tops were a good twelve foot above the floor and ended about chest level setting above a work area. The only way to access the top shelves was by ladder, which seemed strange to us. From the top of the cabinets to the ceiling was a one foot gap that made the perfect hiding spot for all things furry. It had to be where the squeaking noises were coming from. Jack, in his ultimate wisdom, grabbed a ladder and headed north. By now you know that Jack isn't lucky when it comes to safety. In fact, there hasn't been a trip we've made where Jack didn't get hurt some how. So when Jack started up the ladder, Steve starting running out to the truck to get a camera. We could have stopped him, him being Steve, not Jack, but when you see an opportunity like this, you make the best of it. This could be our $10,000 AFV moment and we didn't plan on missing it. Jack gets up to the top two steps on the ladder and peeps over the top of the cabinets. "Do you see anything Jack?" asks Bill. "Nothing yet but the noise is coming from up here." Jack replied. "I'm gonna move this little box and see what's behind it." It's at this point that the phrase "Hey y'all, watch this" or "I bet you I can" comes to mind. Famous last words are spoken in situations just like this and Bill and I both knew it. Not only did we know it but it was confirmed that the other knew it when we looked at each other and grinned. "Wait just a second Jack." Bill said. "Why are you stopping him Bill?" I asked, "Because Steve's not back yet with the camera." said Bill, but by now it was too late. As we turned to look back up at Jack, he had reached into the box, then almost immediately after, let out what can only be described as a scream made by wildcats in the night. Something that makes the hairs on your neck stand up then run down your back for cover. A noise that makes all the birds in a one mile radius all fly off in unison. Bill and I watched intensely to see what it was. A rattlesnake? Maybe a possum? We didn't know. Jack's hand came out of the box faster than most eyes can follow. It was like a blur of yellow leather glove that extended a good two feet from start to finish, and when it did finish, Jack started shaking his hand furiously back and forth, but there was something different. Something didn't look just right as we watched Jack up there on the ladder. As we tuned in to the glove we saw it. There was a furry little tail growing out of Jack's hand. A baby squirrel had latched onto Jack's middle finger. This little monster had a vise grip jaw locked down on Jack with no intent on letting go. How something that small could even open it's mouth wide enough around a glove and bite through it was something we could not comprehend. We didn't know what to do. We couldn't climb the ladder, Steve still wasn't back with the camera, so Bill and I just watched. Bill gave me 2-1 odds that Jack would fall before the squirrel but before we could shake on it, Jack grabbed the squirrel with his other hand, letting go of the ladder in the process, and pulled it off his finger. One problem solved and another presented itself. By letting go of the ladder, Jack, who was at the top anyway, became a victim of gravity. Now Bill and I were below him at this point and seeing what's about to unfold, we reach out to try and catch the baby squirrel. Jack, on the other hand, was obviously way to big to catch. Well Jack starts heading south and there's all sorts of junk around the ladder. Barrels, parts, and deer feeders turned legs up. "Squirrel bait" would soon find out that it was a deer feeder leg that would turn him into a Jack-kabob. A small angle iron leg sticking out from a deer feeder would slow Jack's fall to the ground. Matter of fact, it would be that little piece of iron that would keep Jack from hitting the ground all together. At first glance, it looked to us like a direct shot. What we call being corn holed. Rear ended, a poop shot. Jack was just hanging there in mid air resting on top of this one metal leg growing out of his butt. He looked like a corn dog. Like Jack on a stick. Maybe cotton candy or a Jacksicle would be the best way to describe it. After closer inspection though, luckily for Jack, that wasn't the case. The angle iron caught him on the hip. Branded him with a large Nike swoosh on the backside. Something for him to always remember that little squirrel by. The whole episode didn't take more than a minute. Steve had just got back to the barn with the camera when we were pulling Jack off the feeder leg. Missed it all. No documented proof. Just eye witnesses to another weekend of defying death at the deer camp.
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