Many will think the following story is a fabrication, but my Son, Randy, remembers me telling it to him when we lived in Atlanta, Ga. Unfortunately, my hunting companion, who also hunted with the brothers on this occasion, has passed on.
Darrell and Dwayne (pronounced “DeeWayne”) were twin brothers, aka rednecks, that lived, on the way towards Kennesaw Mountain, several miles outside of Cartersville, Ga. My hunting partner, Craig Harmon, and I met Darrell one cool, fall, morning to go quail hunting at a new “hot” spot that Darrell and his brother had just come across.
The Saturday past Darrell and Dwayne had asked for, and received permission, to hunt on a nice three hundred, acre, farm bisected by a flowing creek. They, the brothers and their “bird dog”, a cross between a pointer and Brittany spaniel had run up several coveys along the creek and had called Craig during the week and he had set up this hunt.
Darrell began our hunt by telling Craig and me the following story:
“Me €˜n Dwayne wuz huntin’ along the creek when “Old Slick” pointed at the base of a fair size oak.” He continued, “Bof of us knew he would “tree” a squirrel, so we ran up to the tree and started scannin’ for the critter, but hit weren’t no squirrel but a red rooster, sittin’ up on a big limb.” I asked, “What then?” “Why I shot him, a’ course,” he replied.
“We took thet rooster home and cooked him up and Momma made some drop dumplins’ thet were awfully good.” I countered, “That rooster had to be tough?” “Tough, no sir, we parboiled him with a sixteen penny nail,” he answered, “But we made sure it was a brand new nail!”
We didn’t “get” any chickens that day.