Doug Blough

I’m a wild game pig

By Doug Plouffe

Well, enough about the cute domesticated pets; Let’s move on to the delicious dead animals commonly found in the crock pot. For decades, I’ve been taking wild game meat that others put into my greedy, non-judgmental hands. I don’t hunt – I haven’t hunted since high school in western Pennsylvania where whitetail hunting was the rage.

I gave in to peer pressure for a year and just to fit in, got a license and trekked into the woods behind our house. Feeling cold and nothing jumping towards me, I was back home in bed by noon. However, I did a lot more killing than I care to remember.

I’ll get back to that, but in a clever clip, kudos to his great nephew Sam Bluff who drew the moose mark at only 18 and cashed in. Sammy, or “Sparky” as I call him, his brother Noah, (“the rooster”) and Pop, Rusty, (“Krusty the Clown”) took to the hills as the season drew to a close.

I’ve been told the odds of drawing a moose sign are less than 1% – about the same as when I saw a sunrise. The boy apparently has some pretty amazing luck, as he also tracks down Trophy girlfriend Sierra. The odds of drawing her were even lower, so he would have to frame her picture and pin it to the wall right next to the moose.

I’m not sure what Sam’s lottery area is; Somewhere in the Crandall area I think. I wouldn’t know the Indian Dead from Nipple Mesa, so let’s say north of Cody and south of Hardin, Montana. The point is, Sami brought down that unlucky moose with two strategically placed .270 pieces.

Upon hearing this, I thought, “Hmm; free meat.” I was sent out packing with deer and elk, compliments from friends and/or family girls, but I had never tasted moose. I was surprised to expect the moose burger, the mousse steak, and especially the chocolate mousse, which I’ve heard great things about.

Going back to my personal experience of hunting and its culinary ramifications, I can still taste the fried rabbit once served by my mother, most likely packaged by Big Brother Paul, the main killer in the family. I remember it as the best meat ever, but I also painfully remember as a teenager, a lovely bunny hiding inside a wood pile in our backyard that blew up on a 16 gauge. Oh, big Man – Capable of hitting a rabbit 10 feet away clustered within 8 inches of clearance. But the meat, both greasy and delicious, is a real divisive—a mystery trapped in a tray if you will.

Likewise, I could still see a huge gray squirrel falling from a tree branch behind our house and landing with a heavy blow. At my hands, this beautiful, tender animal tragically died, and who knows what happened to her other significant other, heartbroken petting him one second and escaping across the branch the next. How I regret that “successful” shot.

But back to Sami Shot successful, I saw the photo of the corpse full of sapphires and it sure looked great. Then again, what do I know about what a killer cup is? I wouldn’t know a Boone and Cracker scoring rack from a straw shovel.

back to Mine It kills me, and I’m also haunted by memories of me and Jack Kim killing Robins with Daisy BB guns as punk kids. “How can I be heartless?” I’m asking my self. It’s not like I shot a guy in Reno, only to watch him die, but it was still gruesome. I don’t have good memories of killing one. Death doesn’t excite me, but a taste of the wild game certainly does.

So I will continue to crush venison as much as they are willing to give it up. I mean, I’m not big on principles, and while I can’t kill a proud and majestic animal, I don’t look down on anyone else. Let the blood flow they But the meat is in the freezer.

My apologies to Rocky the Squirrel and Bullwinkle the Moose for what my family and I have done to your people. Lucky for you that gun-wielding Elmer Fudd floated a different cartoon.

#wild #game #pig

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