Thread: Duck Hunters
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Old 12-23-2006, 10:33   #4
The Reaper
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Join Date: Jan 2004
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Spartan359
HAHA that's awesome.

What happened to the dog TR?
He let it go.

Well, we had a family tradition of shooting off fireworks on Christmas Eve. Originally, the family was too poor for fireworks, and fireworks were illegal in North Carolina, so they used the leftover dynamite on the farm. As I understand it, after a little imbibing of homemade whiskey, a short fuse (3-5 seconds) on a quarter stick, taped to a homemade arrow and shot across the highway was very neat, till the homemade bow snapped after the fuse was lit. Then things got exciting.

Well, with evolution and Darwinian selection, we had gotten up to store bought fireworks, which as we all know, are pretty weak these days due to nambyists and lawyers (sorry, RL and AL).

I commented on how much better the issued stuff was, and when challenged, happened to have a leftover artillery simulator in the trunk of my car. Alcohol may, or may not have been a factor. Don't try this at home, kids.

I take the simulator out and deploy it as intended, throwing it well away from the crowd, only to discover that my Uncle's sheepdog had suddenly decided to become a retreiver. He makes a mad dash for the simulator, and picks it up in his mouth just as it starts whistling.

He then took off running with us yelling and after the flash/boom, he was both yelling and running. So I have to take off after him, pistol in hand and be prepared to deal with the consequences.

My uncle's son, who was six, asked why I was chasing his blasted dog with a pistol in my hand, and my brother told him that I was going after the dog to put him down, since he was going to be too injured to save. Yes, my bro had been drinking, a little. And yes, the kid started wailing. Merry Christmas, little guy.

When we found the dog under my uncle's porch next door, I expected to see half his head missing.

When we finally convinced him to come out, he was still smoldering and the smell of burning sheepdog was thick in the air.

Turns out that he had dropped it at the last minute and overrun it. Outr primary survey revealed that the simulator must have gone off under him, burning all of the hair off his belly (and there is plenty on an unblasted sheepdog) and giving him a nice sunburn down underneath. No frag, no lacerations, but he had a very bare and pink belly for a sheepdog.

Happy ending for all, but for some reason, every time anyone got out any fireworks after that the dog ran away and hid for a couple of days.

That's my story and I am sticking with it.

TR
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"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat." - President Theodore Roosevelt, 1910

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