Yar, yar, yar-I'm Game Warden Marshall X and you jest murdered yourself a decoy deer. You're under arrest for deer jackin'!
Well, now I know why that deer did not move.
I did not know what to do next, so I thought I'd do what I do when I don't know what to do and that is to do what comes natural-so, I reloaded my rifle and I pointed into the direction of where the bellerin' was coming from, and I drew bead right into the center of old Marshall's temple and you know I'd be lyin' if I told ya I wasn't some tempted to send a report headed right to the side of his noggin and I know'd I'd a been goin up the river the hero of the town if I dispatched the old bastard -but I thought I'd rather pay the jackin' fine and have my truck confiscated then spend the rest of my days incarcerated up to St. Johnsbury for killin' a man, o I let him go free.
Marshall X, 57 years of age, got himself a much younger woman I hear. I imagine an exciting evening is the two of them settin' around together waiting for another one of her baby teeth to fall out. And hopin' another one a his'n don't. Marshall's a keen one though; I hear she's got hold of herself a gol darn good job with the possibility of becoming assistant manager down to the big box store in Morrisville. Talk about a retirement plan; hell, that's better'n one of them 401, Roth, IR, money market K things there, or whatever you call 'em.
But you can understand what Mr. X sees in that young Templeton girl though-she's quite the rig.
She's got one of them Roman noses just like her mother who works down the Village Coffee Shop. And mom tells me that her daughter does fairly well, below average grade wise, in high school; however, she gets As in home services.
Course me and the fellers down the garage all agree the Lord has blessed that young girl with the finest front and backdoor yards you ever did see, but it's hard to understand what she see's in ol' Marshall X (other than the fact that he has been accumulated quite an estate ever since he decided to sell them boulders from his farm land).
You see, Marshall X figured, and rightly so, what with all them flatlanders ah movin' up country and wanting to fancy dancy up their properties, he could make a fortune selling them boulders from his farmland. And I was able to see exactly what size of a fortune he was accumulatin' when my wife had come to me; she said she thought we needed to have two large boulders, one set out on either side of the front entrance of our driveway. Well, I said "cripes all mighty, Sharon, it's just something else to mow around." But she was determined.
I figured, Heck, it probably give her something pretty gol darn good to ricochet off from this winter when she's driving down into the door yard; she would have to roust me up outta my comfy chair so gol darn often to yank her out of the snow bank, so I told her I'd try to oblige her, and I set off a searchin' in earnest the following morning for Marshall. I didn't get too awful far along when I come up from behind of him, a laboring up a hill on his Tote Goat.
To be continued.
Rusty DeWees tours Vermont and Northern New York with his act "The Logger." His column appears weekly. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Listen for The Logger, Rusty DeWees, Thursdays at 7:40 on the Big Station, 98.9 WOKO or visit his website at www.thelogger.com