By Slim Randles
My first wife came from a ranching family 'way back up in the hills of California and had a cousin, Ted, who was a hounddog man.
I talked my way into hunting with him, of course.
All went well until we were on the way home and a badger ran across the road and dove into a large culvert pipe.
"Oh wow!" said Ted, "Let's get him!
He released most of the hounds and they plugged the culvert pipe at both ends with bawling insults. In the dead center of the pipe was a snarling badger.
"Gotta smoke him outa there," Ted said, lighting a cigar and handing it to me. "Now crawl in there and smoke that sucker out."
"How many badgers you hunted?"
So I crawled into the pipe with the cigar in my mouth, puffing and coughing, and the badger actually backed up a few steps.
Then Ted released his old dog from the car. He screamed into the other end of the pipe and grabbed that badger right in the butt. The record for backing out of a culvert pipe with a glowing cigar in one's mouth like the afterburners on an F-18 was shattered. I became something of a local legend, actually.
My wife told me that, as a member of the family, I could hunt with Ted all the time.
After the divorce ...
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