It was the last straw. After another brutal week at the work, I return to my car and find that my goose call is missing. Yes, stolen from my car. I devise ways to exact comeuppance upon the unfortunate soul who "lifted" the call. I can see it now. Walking across the parking lot to [pick a big box store], a dude calls me over to his vintage 1985 Honda Prelude held together with duct tape and caulk and painted primer grey. As I expect him to ask if I want to buy some speakers [remind me to find out who still buys 20" woofers in a wood laminate casing the size of a filing cabinet], I am surprised to hear that he wants to know if I want to buy a goose call. Not any goose call, he tells me, but a “Folles Mahgrah-ter Strayht Meet Hahnker with a smohk bar-ell”…..and a small scratch near the band!!
As the police arrive and convince me to release my grip on this poor soul’s windpipe, my anger fades as his toes scrape the asphalt. I do not have to convince the police, as they know the fate of a thief who takes a man’s goose call. It is akin to taking his gun and expecting that he will not be given an additional wire brushing for his inability to understand the bond between middle aged men and their gear.
My melancholy mood continued for twelve hours as I doubted my sanity, muttering under my breath hobo-style that, …“ I never lose anything, what’s my problem!!” I checked the car three times, at night and day, in case the shadows hid the call. Looking through the leaves outside the car door delivered no results and, of course, it did not help I was looking for a Max-4 camo case.
Despondency progressed… As I readied myself to find another killer eBay deal for the SMH, I checked my briefcase for the fifth time and there it was. In my office, I looked at it on my desk for a few hours and doubted its actual existence. I smiled and knew that I was given a second chance to master the call.
After all, it is not the Arrow, but the Indian.
3 comments:
This is a great piece! Can't remember how many times I have been in precisely this same scenario, cussin' everyone under the sun (except myself of course), including perceived villains unknown and unseen...only to find the missing call (or more frequently in my case, my Buck knife) in the last place I left it.
Glad I found your blog.
Oh, most excellent post, Phil!!! Thanks for stopping by the bayou and leaving a comment today! We just started our second split last weekend. My youngest son, 15, is anxious to go Friday morning . . . Merry Christmas!
Thanks for the kind words Steve and bayouwoman..Merry Christmas to the both of you. This year my son gets his first shotgun; stay tuned as his prowess continues...Phil
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