The Bitch goes Huntin'

One of our more senior clients is a keen hunter so he has just spent the last three months out in the woods. He returned with stash of venison cuts for me and an invitation to go hunting with him. I should say here that there are two types of hunter in southern Virginia. There is the redneck ,barely legal, Neanderthal type who likes to shoot from his 1973 F150 and eats roadkill pie. Then there is the ethical hunter who asks permission to hunt on private land, eats what he kills and donates the rest to Hunters for the Hungry (and me). Needless to say my man falls into the latter group and a nicer chap you could not want to meet.

As you will know, faithful reader, I am a keen, and not too shabby skeet shooter but I have always demurred at the thought of killing something. Well I guess it was time to shake of my soft Northern pansy ways so I gleefully accepted. Apparently all I needed was a camouflage suit, which is how I found myself in the Walmarts Sunday morning. The Walmarts had it all and within minutes I had the suit, shirt, gloves, veil, cap and was set to go. By now you are probably thinking, dumb immigrant doesn’t realize that hunting season is over, well think again. You see here in Smalltown, camo (as we hunters call it) is not just practical, it is also a fashion statement. Even though I say so myself, my fellow Smalltownians and I look pretty fetching in green. This kit is guaranteed to improve both the quantity and the quality of my love life. Praise Jesus for inventing redneck wimmin.

Actually this stuff may have to go back. Fancying a bit of a rest I slipped on the kit and had a little lie down on the sofa. Well I tell you people within seconds the Boss had spotted me and given me some chores.

So much for camouflage.