re: Your favorite grandpa/daddy hunting story

I posted this in an older thread but its one of my earliest memories of hunting with my dad so I'm re-posting.



When I was about 8 years old my dad and I had a real close call one night. Over 20 years later I realize now that for my dad, hunting was more about crushing white cans and bitching that the food plots need fertilizing than actually killing deer. So, one night after hunting little me is standing there on a powerline in the dark while he spreads triple 13. All the sudden a pack of coyotes starts up a few hundred yards away. I was scared to death but didn’t want to look like a pussy so I just stood there hoping my dad would run out of fertilizer. Then I heard it, something moving in the bushes just off the powerline. Frozen, I realize the only weapon at my disposal is a five gallon bucket. The critter gets so close I’m conivinced it’s about to pounce, and I start beating on the bucket as loud and fast as I can. As soon as I do, out of the brush jumps the biggest armadillo I’ve ever seen. He cuts a few circles and runs off. I’m still standing there holding my weapon as my dad runs up. I told him what happened and he couldn’t stop laughing. To this day he still gives me shite about it.