My Dad’s Fish Story - Episode 2
Image by Christin Hume
In the cool dark of the new days before-sunup, you slid carefully from under the quilt. No need to put on any clothes because you hadn’t taken any off. After all, there was only the shirt and bib-overalls. Old Prince’s tail thumped, “Howdy Bud, thought we’d never get started…been watin’ half the night seem-as-so. Now watch out for that creaky board in the kitchen…want t’wake everybody? If we get caught sneakin’ out, you’ll have all them mornin’ chores t’do and eat breakfast besides. Gosh, Bud, that’d take all mornin’!”
You and Prince slipped under the hushed-whisper of the cottonwood trees to the toolshed. You took the pole from where you’d hid it, felt if the worms were still in the can; felt the rest of your gear to be sure it was still in your pockets. Prince shoved his cold nose into your hand “Gosh, Bud! Let’s get outta here…come on!”
Dew from the alfalfa felt good on your bare legs, although the dry stubble of the last outing did sharply stick your tough bare feet. Prince trotted ahead, waited politely while you crawled thru the barbed-wire fences. Once out of human ear-reach of the house, he’d snuffle thru the brush, laughing at the quail and rabbits he’d scared up. He and you would look at each other, him panting and rolling his pink tongue, and your grinning back at him. Both knew this was no hunting morning.
A woodpecker warmed up his old hammer on some tree in the misty grove that grew alongside the creek. Shadowy place, that early in the morning a blue jay would scream: JIGGER! JIGGER! JIGGER! I see ’em! I see ‘em! There they be JIGGER! JIGGER! JIGGER!” But this was one time he couldn’t make you mad, the game you and Prince were after could hear, sure enough they could, but they didn’t understand Blue jay Jabber.
Wasn’t any Indian could have crossed the leaf-and-stick covered ground to the creek with less noise than you and Prince. Your bare toes found the deep, soft dust of the trail cattle had made on their way to water. It squffled pleasantly between your toes. When you had to cross a wet spot, the dust turned heavy and syrupy; smelled loudly of two, too!
You could hear the creek talking. That’d be where it swished over the rocky shoal and eddied along the gravelly bank. You were almost at the right place!
To be kontinued!