Home Country

Slim Randles, columnist
Published Sunday, April 10, 2016

By Slim Randles

My first wife came from a ranching family way back up in the hills 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, when a badger ran across the road and dove into a large culvert pipe.

 "Oh wow!" Ted yelled. "Let's get him!"

He released most of the hounds and they plugged both ends of the culvert pipe with bawling insults. In the dead center of the pipe was a snarling badger.

 "Gotta smoke him outta there," Ted said, lighting a cigar and handing it to me.

 "Now crawl in there and smoke that sucker out."

"You sure?"

"How many badgers you hunted?"

So I crawled into the pipe with the cigar in my mouth, puffing away, and the badger actually backed up a few steps.

Then Ted released Ol' Chomper from the car. He screamed into the other end of the pipe and grabbed that badger in the butt.

The record for backing out of a culvert pipe with a glowing cigar in one's mouth was shattered. I was told I resembled a Phantom jet with its afterburners on.

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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