With great excitement and enthusiasm I pen these words this evening. However, my stomach quivers at the thought of the repercussions. Even as I sit and formulate my words, I know I will be offensive to some and cause great consternation for others. Before I go too much further in my glee and waller in happiness, please know I do not intentionally mean to upset anyone. So before you call the newspapers or begin the boycott movement of Eagle Hardware, consider for a moment my motivations as you conclude reading my ramblings.
I now say it boldly, I HAVE COME TO LOVE TO HUNT!
It started just a few weeks ago as I began my first hunt. I was bound and determined to bag the biggest! There were so many to choose from. They were cunning, creatively hiding, and curious of the hunter. Some were down low, very low to the ground. Some were hanging high in the branches just above the grass line. While others, too large to blend in with their surrounds stuck out like a pickle in a fruit basket. Others layed so low to the ground, a quick look over and one misses them.
It didn’t take me long to gather my gear. With my trusty ball cap (from the proud Texas A&M University (“the school” of the fine state of Texas)) atop my head to prevent any gleam of glare to hinder my hunt, to my chigger proof hiking boots, I gathered my equipment. Leather gloves to protect my hands from the sharp shards to the 5mil 55 gallon drum liner to bring home my bounty, I went out prepared.
As I approached the hunting field, the keenness of Sally and Sarge sensed the adrenaline rushing rampant in my body. As the truck eased up to the tree line, the motor ceased its humming. I peered out the windows, looking left and right, making sure it was safe to disembark my 4-wheel drive Ford 1-ton that carried us on this quest. Safe. It was dusk now. Gloves were slid over my hands as I comforted my puppies, “It’s ok guys. I’ll be right back. I’ll be safe.” I grabbed my black bag with great anticipation of filling it that evening and slowly climbed out of the truck. My hopes were high.
In the quietness of the evening, my eyes laid hold of my first! Sneaking up to it ever so stealthy, I reached out and BOOM like that I had it! Woohoo, my first one. I had it! Shabam! Just like that I had bagged my first empty beer can of the night. I was so elated and excited!!!! And just as quickly as I had grabbed it, it was shoved in the plastic protector many a laymen call, trash bags. The dastardly deed was done. The next should be much easier. It was. Just two steps later I was the proud owner of a busted 32oz Whataburger Styrofoam drink cup. Yes sir, it was mine! Next was the remnants of someone’s afternoon alcoholic refreshment. How could their former owners be so willing to part with such beauty? Did they not want to keep it for themselves? Travesty, they were all mine now. My pace quicken as before me my bounty was beautiful (and plentiful)! In elation I was bagging so fast, my bag filling so quickly, my head began to spin.
As my evening hunt of the trophy trash on my county road concluded, I found myself pondering. I pondered why one would carelessly toss trash out the window. Why in tarnation (real word from my Granddaddy) would, day after day, the same person part with their empty can of Michelob? Don’t they want to take it to their own home and proudly display it in their own trash can? Such travesty. And McDonald’s sacks and napkins, empty Gatorade bottles, take out boxes, coffee cups, oh how the list goes one. These poor residents of southern Hunt county don’t have a clue what they are missing when they take their own trash home and not part with it as it is tossed from their motorized vehicle. WOW!
I’m so proud of my trash that I keep it. Yep! I keep it till I have the opportune time to bless the sanitation worker to take it to our local landfill and send it to trash heaven.
Herein lines my motivation to my madness…
So as you see my proudness (my word) glistening beside my pile of trash on Facebook, don’t be upset. My hunt had more than just selfish reasons at heart, I want you to enjoy your ride home too. So rather than taking up arms to protest my haughty hunts, join me. Next time you see someone else’s trophy trash, stoop down and bag you a winner. Oh the joy it makes one feel as the road home is much nicer. More grass than gross please.
And the next time you’re in Eagle, you have to see my trophy mount. I have stuffed, proudly and prominently displayed my latest trash trophy. It’s a half eaten sausage biscuit from parts unknown.
Until then, know I love living in our community and am glad you do too!
Happy Hunting!