Word of the day - Pettifogger:
True story
....... For the last 10 years my best childhood friend has begged me to let him go deer hunting on my property. Now before everyone get's all huffy, you all know that old Longhorn is an animal lover as can be proved by taking a look at the variety of critters roaming around the farm. This past deer season I decided I would end a decade of "whinning and begging" and I would allow my best buddy to deer hunt down in south end of the pasture in the meadow.
Myself not being a hunter, I was not prepared for what I was about to see. At 3:30 AM I hear the old familiar "backfire" from my old buddys rusted out 65 Ford pick-up. Groggy and a little miffed about being woken up by a machine, I made my way to the front door. The look on my friends face said it all, the old expression "Grin from ear to ear" held true that morning. ..... By the way, did I tell you my friends name... Harold Wayne Foggersberg (real person), I always called him "Fogger" for short. I invited HWF in for some bad coffee and a stale day old doughnut.
Im not an expert on the propper attire of Big game hunters, but old Fogger looked like he was expecting to bag a grizzly or mabey a T-Rex, im not sure. I gave him the "Rules for hunting" on my property speech which went in one ear and out the other, and told him whatever happens in those woods, I dont want to know about it. As Fogger is walking out the door he turns and says to me Longhorn, why dont you come along and I can show you what fun you have been missing out on all these years.
Just as I was about to tell Fogger where he could go, an interesting thought came over me...why dont I go with Fogger and at the very least mabey I can scare off anything before he has time to play Rambo. Through the meadow and into the woods we go. Im not sure what was worse, his constant telling me to "ShoooSH" or his eagerness to kill some helpless animal. Here we sit, for three dang hours hunkerd down by an old rotten fallen oak tree.
Long about 7:00 am I motion over to Fogger that I need to relieve myself from some of that mud coffee we had earlier. HWF looks at me with rage in his eyes and says, if you have to go, do it on that old log next to you. Well I did have to go, and after all it was my pasture, and my old log, so to heck with him, I let'er rip. About half way into the relief process, I notice some strange movement in the hollow log. Sure enouph, I picked the one log that was home to a very angry opossum.
Apparently not happy or either discussted by my scent, the angry opossum avoids me, and heads directly to an unsuspecting Fogger, and runs straight up his pants leg and latches firmly on his "Privates". I doubt many on this forum have encountered an agry opossum that has just received a urine bath, but trust me folks, it aint pretty. Like I was saying, old Fogger was in a heep of trouble and the look of sheer terror on his face, and the squill of pain in his voice was frightening to say the least, but at the same time a sence of JOY came over me.
Obviously having not practiced this type of emergency proceedure before, HWF panics and yells at me "Longhorn" what the heck do I do now. As I try my best to look concerned and that I give a crap, I tell him, Im no expert on opossum removal, but if I were you I would "Pet-it-fogger"... and then it rained.
Love in Christ
Longhorn