"This True Story Was First Told Around a
Campfire"
TRUE CAMPFIRE STORY #10
Doggarn it!
When we first met him, none of
us knew just how doggarn bad he could be!
Through the years, the signs were there for everyone to see;
repeatedly, the
evidence was shown to us; repeatedly we deceived ourselves. Finally,
after years and years of accumulated evidence, we were able to see the
truth.
It all seemed so innocent; he liked big big campfires,
really big campfires,
big fast cars,
and big loud guns; sort of like a red-neck, but not quite. An early
sign occurred on a camping trip more
that a quarter
of a century ago. We were quietly sitting around our campfire, enjoying
the night of stars and the evening sounds of wilderness, while having a
quiet conversation. Suddenly, there was a series of small explosions in
the campfire; not particularly earth shattering, but none-the-less
annoying, as sparks flew everywhere, "Doggarn it." As I wondered what
had caused this
disturbance to our evening, my friend first smiled, then smiled
broadly, and then he let out a roaring laugh. He seemed quite pleased
with himself as the look in his eyes became slightly devilish? He had
tossed a handful of firecrackers into the campfire. This little
'joke' of his became a very regular occurrence, often substituting a
handful of live bullets for his firecrackers, whether it was just the
two of us or with a group of friends.
Another thing we noticed as we'd boat into camping sites, was whichever
side of the boat his personal bags were loaded on, that side of the
boat was much much lower in the water; it was his armory, as he was
always with his
guns; the bigger the better. He would bring hundreds of rounds of
ammunition for the many guns in his bags and cases. There were the
occasional target practice sessions, but many times he would just load
his
banana clips and fire them as quickly as possible, gleaming that
devilish look as the canyons echoed in a roar, "Doggarn it."
This too became a very regular
occurrence!
Often, during quiet moments, while sitting around a campfire, playing a
hand of cards, or concentrating over a chessboard, there would occur a
tremendous explosion directly adjacent to one of our ears, "Doggarn it."
He loved to
fire his 357 magnum,
or his 45 semi-automatic right next to our ear as
we were lost in concentration or meditation. Again, there was that
devilish gleam in his eyes! This too became a very regular occurrence!
Soon our friend graduated to sneak attacks with cherry bombs, always
when his intended victim was most unsuspecting, "Doggarn it." Again, there was that devilish gleam in his eyes! This too became a very regular occurrence!
He loved to put almost empty liquor bottles into our campfires; soon he
graduated to almost empty cans of charcoal lighter fluid or propane
bottles. Our first clue that something was amiss was when he would
hurriedly run and take cover. Many times the explosive device would
just fizzle, but on numerous occasions there was a large explosion,
sometimes with a huge fireball,
"Doggarn it." Again,
there
was that devilish gleam in his eyes! This
too became a very regular occurrence!
After each of these incidents, he was normally chastised by his
companions. On occasion, when the chastisement did not stop our
devilish friend from his nefarious deeds, he would be bombarded with
cans, bottle, rocks, logs, chairs, or any other object that the victim
had within his reach. Our friend would run away, but return shortly;
the
devilish gleam would be gone and we knew that he was, for the moment,
no longer possessed.
Finally, on a trip to Cherry Lake, with friends and dogs, he graduated
once again. It was midday and we were having a leisurely time around
camp. Our nefarious friend was near a big granite boulder, about 20
feet from the rest of us; suddenly, he ran. My young dog, Blackie,
being curious
to the excitement, ran towards him, as he fled the vicinity of the
boulder. Then there was an explosion; a big explosion! Shrapnel from
the granite sprayed us, with one large piece penetrating a heavy double
walled plastic insulated cup held in the hand of one of our companions.
Blackie, who had always been comfortable sitting or lying nearby
during our target practice sessions, ran away in fear. (He now shakes
every
Fourth of July, no matter how small or far away the firecracker pops
are.) We looked at our nefarious friend and the devilish gleam was more
intense than ever. He had exploded a quarter stick of dynamite, "Doggarn it."
We
berated him.
Later, he apologized for scaring Blackie, not the rest of us. Now we
always knew that he loved dogs, and even to this day he signs off on
his email messages, "If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die I
want to go where they went."
You'd figure that a guy who loves dogs that much, couldn't be so bad.
I've always loved my dogs, as one can see from this cozy picture.
But, a guy who'll sleep on the hard ground, while his dog snoozes
comfortably on the sleeping bag, just has to be forgiven for being bad
once in a while, "Doggarn it."
Copyright
2004, Carport's True Stories
Reproduction for noncommercial uses only is acceptable
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