By Clay Reid
Last month I wrote about how I was accidentally led into the poacher life. Today I will tell of another time I was led astray as a dumb kid.
Actually I wrote this story a few days ago, and about half-way through I hit the dang ESC button and erased the whole dang deal. I was too disturbed to carry on and just walked away and soon forgot about doing it altogether, and this explains why once again I am late with my deadline. Sorry, Mrs. Crabtree.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my story starts as I am walking down the highway in front of my aunt’s house in Iowa Park, Texas. I was headed down to the Armadillo Arcade to watch everybody else play video games.
Most of the time I didn’t have the money to play the games, but enjoyed watching just the same. Except for the one time I ate some glass for a dollar and got to play.
As I was headed down the road, that same old crooked uncle hollered and asked if I wanted to go frog hunting. “You bet,” I replied and hauled my butt to the house to get my trusty .22 magnum rifle that my dad had given me after we had won the Top of Texas kid football championship a few months before.
This same crazy uncle later shattered that .22 on his driveway after I had requested he return it to me.
After getting the gun, we loaded up and headed west and were soon killing frogs at a pretty good pace. After about the fourth tank, we came to a place south of Electra, Texas. It was a tank where they had busted the dam on the original tank and dug another out in front of it.
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