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Show Chatter Box Dear Suzy, I have always been under the impression that pheasant hunting was a most pleasant and enjoyable enjoy-able recreation. You were out in the fragrant air taking long walks and when not too engrossed in the hunting, communing with nature and her beauties. But comes a tale of woe that knocks all my thoughts into discord and one of apprehension, and makes one realize re-alize that pheasant hunting is one of America's dangerous sports. Take the predicament that poor Emery Peterson got into during the last season. It was the opening open-ing dav and he and his son Alma, were doing their best to increase the family larder by a most potable pota-ble delicacy. Emery, he of the eagle eye, spotted a pheasant walking wal-king into some weeds, and decided it was meat for the pot, and he would get it. He slowly stalked the weeds keeping a watchful eye on where the bird should fly out. Closer and closer he sneaked, and no bird arose to startle his wits, and finally he was right in the weeds. At this point a moving white object ob-ject drew his attention, and knowing know-ing of the serious shortage of shot gun shells, he decided to catch the bird and save shooting it up, and, also save one of his shells . We have all heard of taking the the bull by the tail only with Emery it was worse. He had a skunk by the tail, and it was in no mood to be petted or picked up by that appendage. It protested the familiarity in most skunklike behavior, giving off violent and vigorous counter attacks of an a-roma a-roma that is hard to describe. To say Emery was startled is the height of understatement. He was non-plussed he was drenched he was put out with all pheasant hunting. His son viewed him at a safe distance and kept a stiff breeze between him and his father fath-er while Emery slowly walked to the car. Here it was necessary for him to remove his clothes, as Alma looked for a barrel, discard the raiment, get into the barrel and ride home in the back seat, with all windows open. , You can imagine the consternation consterna-tion at the hearthside when our nimrod and breadwinner came home to his wife clothed as tho he had been to a Saturday night poker game instead of pheasant hunting. Baths, creosote, DDT 'n copious quantities of an expensive perfume failed to quiet the odor and Emery has been spending several sedate and peaceful days in the family basement. Oak City residents are waiting with the anxiety that a child a-waits a-waits Christmas for the discharge from service of Bryce Finlinson.He has been stationed with the Navy Fleet Home Town News Center in Chicago, and while not engrossed in writing news-of the boys in the Navy for the many home town papers, pa-pers, he has been surveying (mentally) (men-tally) and planning proper names and numbers on homes and local streets on our fair city to the east. For example, when he was asked to give his home town address, our Naval writer wrote that he lived liv-ed with his parents at "101 South Wolf Road, Oak City, Utah." I suppose Oak City residents can see his fertile mind working up such names as "479 Coyote Cre-vass," Cre-vass," with possibly the Alldredge home as "9889 Canyon Breeze Boulevard," Bou-levard," and there is even a possibility pos-sibility of "Cragmont Drive," the "Ridge Skyline," and "Deerhunt-ers "Deerhunt-ers Paradise Pass." He slipped up when it came to, saying where he worked, as he baldly stated "Fool Creek Ranch." He should or could have easily changed that to "Wise Water Mesa" or "Dolte Arroyo Ranchero." What I read in the newspapers I take for fact (specially the Chronicle), Chron-icle), and never even supposed that writers occasionally "pulled the public's leg" in such a manner. man-ner. It seems to me that his writing writ-ing has cast a reflection (but a glamorous one) on the that street in Oak City, which I, in prosaic manner, would have dubbed, "A W O L ("A Wolf on the Loose") but he, "South Wolf Road," as tho there were two wolves AWOL on the prowl, one north, the other south. I feel drawn to the town to meet both of 'em. Game for wolves, Toots. |