- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
- Messages
- 496
...Bad Some Years Before...
It was in the dog days of summer a few years back. I had been isolating myself from things since the wife's sister had come down for a long weekend. Thankfully she was finally preparing to leave and go back home to 'Jax'. So wasting some time, sitting idle at the computer, imbibing on a brown bottle beverage, a couple...well several,
I was surprised from my reverie by the wife's sudden entrance through the front door screaming incoherent words of fear.
Sounding something like; “Th'e's a 'gat or sunder Maureen's cat!” Maureen being the aforementioned sister. My first reaction was; “Whut? You been out in the sun too long woman!” Then being the dutiful husband I figured before I said such I should go and see for myself what the trouble was.
Standing on the front stoop I saw Maureen holding her hands in front of her face while sitting in the car, motor running. First I thought she must'a hit one of the kids when backing. A quick check and count relieved me of that worry. Then I thought she may of hit one of the dogs, not as terrible a situation but tragic in it's own way. No, still got a full count there also. After I ascertained no one or thing had been hit, my wife, a bit calmer now, came out beside me and said again, “There's a 'gator under Maureen's car!” - Huh! What have you and she been drinking lady!? Was my first reaction but not wanting to say such out loud I got Maureen's attention and motioned for her to back up. She did and...Yes, to my surprise there actually was a gator under her car. Looked to me about five feet long or there 'bouts. Now, what do you do with a gator that comes to visit?
I know, I had a buddy who's family raised gators under license of the state of Florida. So I gave him a call. He wasn't home but I did get his mother on the line. Considering the state of confusion I was in and possibly the several brown bottled beverages I had been imbibing, I asked her what to do. Her reply was something like: “Well Butch and the boys usually take a 'long' pole with a 'sturdy' rope on the end and make a lasso on that end. Then they slip it over the gator's head and cinch it tight then put the gator in a box.” That sounds easy enough. I thanked her, told her not to worry about it any longer and went to gather material.
She did say 'pole' so I found a broom handle, 'sturdy' rope, well this clothesline ought'a do. So I found an eye-bolt, inserted it into the broom handle, a nail on the end of the broom handle secured the rope 'firmly' into the end of the 'pole'. There I was ready for the gator.
I approached him slowly and reached out ever so gently to slip the noose over his head. The gator was not a mind to co-operate. He opened his mouth to hiss & bite the 'rope' when ever I got near his head. After about two, or a dozen tries, I held the rope limp at the edge of his snout. When he shut his mouth once again I quickly slipped the noose over his head, dragging the end under his jaw and to his neck. Following directions I tightened the noose.
I think Butch's mama forgot to tell me something. She didn't say a word about how the gator reacted to this situation.
That gator came alive!
As soon as the noose tightened...I realized I was in trouble. The only thing between me and possibly vicious, wild and angry gator was a clothesline and a broom handle..and an overwhelming adrenaline rush. It was getting powerfully hard to hold on to the broom handle but, I was also determined, for my own peace of mind and safety of my limbs, I was not letting go of the handle for love or money. I was committed, and probably should'a been for not thinking this out and letting Butch and the boys handle it. The pole was shaking, my arms were tense and being stressed in every which direction, and I was terrified the clothesline would break, if not the so called pole.
We were all over the ½ acre of ground where the cars were parked. The gator twisting and turning and hissing and snapping, turning every which way and dragging me with him. Finally...finally he twisted so much it actually looped the clothesline around his legs and brought him to a stop. I took a breath then asked...where's the box? Yea, now I remembered Butch's mama said, “They put it in a box.”. O boy!
I started yelling for someone to get some kind, any kind, of box. My wife, now having regained her presence of mind said. “ Just throw it in the back of the pick-up!” Lord I love that woman! Pulling hauling an straining I dragged that gator, now nicely trussed, into the back of my truck, quickly hopping, almost falling, over the other side once I was sure he was secured in the bed.
Being humane people we decided to take him down to the local lake and turn him loose. So the wife and I jumped into the truck and headed down the road. When we pulled over by the lake, I looked in the back...The gator was gone!
Remembering how he had hidden under Maureen's car, sure he was going to exact revenge on me, I carefully opened my door and leaped into the middle of the road to have a look under. Hmmmm, no gator. We decided to drive on home and let him deal with it himself. Driving back we got about a quarter mile toward the house and there was that gator sitting in the middle of the road holding up traffic. About a minute after we arrived he decided he's had enough and meandered off the road in the direction of the lake. Which was alright by me.
Since then I've learned gators are a protected species, you don't touch, feed, tackle, rope, speak mean to, look at cross-eyed or think bad thoughts about. Even if there were not regulations on the subject it is what I would do and recommend to others.
This is a true story as I remember it and have embellished it. The names have not been changed because there are no innocents.
It was in the dog days of summer a few years back. I had been isolating myself from things since the wife's sister had come down for a long weekend. Thankfully she was finally preparing to leave and go back home to 'Jax'. So wasting some time, sitting idle at the computer, imbibing on a brown bottle beverage, a couple...well several,
I was surprised from my reverie by the wife's sudden entrance through the front door screaming incoherent words of fear.Sounding something like; “Th'e's a 'gat or sunder Maureen's cat!” Maureen being the aforementioned sister. My first reaction was; “Whut? You been out in the sun too long woman!” Then being the dutiful husband I figured before I said such I should go and see for myself what the trouble was.
Standing on the front stoop I saw Maureen holding her hands in front of her face while sitting in the car, motor running. First I thought she must'a hit one of the kids when backing. A quick check and count relieved me of that worry. Then I thought she may of hit one of the dogs, not as terrible a situation but tragic in it's own way. No, still got a full count there also. After I ascertained no one or thing had been hit, my wife, a bit calmer now, came out beside me and said again, “There's a 'gator under Maureen's car!” - Huh! What have you and she been drinking lady!? Was my first reaction but not wanting to say such out loud I got Maureen's attention and motioned for her to back up. She did and...Yes, to my surprise there actually was a gator under her car. Looked to me about five feet long or there 'bouts. Now, what do you do with a gator that comes to visit?
I know, I had a buddy who's family raised gators under license of the state of Florida. So I gave him a call. He wasn't home but I did get his mother on the line. Considering the state of confusion I was in and possibly the several brown bottled beverages I had been imbibing, I asked her what to do. Her reply was something like: “Well Butch and the boys usually take a 'long' pole with a 'sturdy' rope on the end and make a lasso on that end. Then they slip it over the gator's head and cinch it tight then put the gator in a box.” That sounds easy enough. I thanked her, told her not to worry about it any longer and went to gather material.
She did say 'pole' so I found a broom handle, 'sturdy' rope, well this clothesline ought'a do. So I found an eye-bolt, inserted it into the broom handle, a nail on the end of the broom handle secured the rope 'firmly' into the end of the 'pole'. There I was ready for the gator.
I approached him slowly and reached out ever so gently to slip the noose over his head. The gator was not a mind to co-operate. He opened his mouth to hiss & bite the 'rope' when ever I got near his head. After about two, or a dozen tries, I held the rope limp at the edge of his snout. When he shut his mouth once again I quickly slipped the noose over his head, dragging the end under his jaw and to his neck. Following directions I tightened the noose.
I think Butch's mama forgot to tell me something. She didn't say a word about how the gator reacted to this situation.
That gator came alive!
As soon as the noose tightened...I realized I was in trouble. The only thing between me and possibly vicious, wild and angry gator was a clothesline and a broom handle..and an overwhelming adrenaline rush. It was getting powerfully hard to hold on to the broom handle but, I was also determined, for my own peace of mind and safety of my limbs, I was not letting go of the handle for love or money. I was committed, and probably should'a been for not thinking this out and letting Butch and the boys handle it. The pole was shaking, my arms were tense and being stressed in every which direction, and I was terrified the clothesline would break, if not the so called pole.
We were all over the ½ acre of ground where the cars were parked. The gator twisting and turning and hissing and snapping, turning every which way and dragging me with him. Finally...finally he twisted so much it actually looped the clothesline around his legs and brought him to a stop. I took a breath then asked...where's the box? Yea, now I remembered Butch's mama said, “They put it in a box.”. O boy!
I started yelling for someone to get some kind, any kind, of box. My wife, now having regained her presence of mind said. “ Just throw it in the back of the pick-up!” Lord I love that woman! Pulling hauling an straining I dragged that gator, now nicely trussed, into the back of my truck, quickly hopping, almost falling, over the other side once I was sure he was secured in the bed.
Being humane people we decided to take him down to the local lake and turn him loose. So the wife and I jumped into the truck and headed down the road. When we pulled over by the lake, I looked in the back...The gator was gone!
Remembering how he had hidden under Maureen's car, sure he was going to exact revenge on me, I carefully opened my door and leaped into the middle of the road to have a look under. Hmmmm, no gator. We decided to drive on home and let him deal with it himself. Driving back we got about a quarter mile toward the house and there was that gator sitting in the middle of the road holding up traffic. About a minute after we arrived he decided he's had enough and meandered off the road in the direction of the lake. Which was alright by me.
Since then I've learned gators are a protected species, you don't touch, feed, tackle, rope, speak mean to, look at cross-eyed or think bad thoughts about. Even if there were not regulations on the subject it is what I would do and recommend to others.
This is a true story as I remember it and have embellished it. The names have not been changed because there are no innocents.
