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More cousinly amusement
Mar. 11th, 2008 08:47 pmThis made me laugh until I could barely breathe.
I spent much time as a youngster on a reservation with my cousins. My older cousin went through a phase where he wanted to join a warrior society. It's common, with many native american youths. However, my cousin's phase took him on a journey that let him play cowboys and indians all by himself.
He learned how to handle a bullwhip (from me, who learned at Sturgis) and he learned how to handle a lasso. From that point on, nothing was safe. People, small trees, cars, rocks, our poor elderly sheep and goats. Not the wolves - even darling cousin at his most testosterone fueled wasn't that ignorant.
One day, while out in the pasture, he saw some deer and thought he'd try to lasso one of the half-grown fawns.
Bad mistake.
Everyone thinks deer are all cute and graceful and stupid, relatively harmless hayburners. They aren't. They're evil when threatened. I happened to be out in the truck, taking out the mineral licks, and saw darling cousin bolting for the house hellbent for leather. With four or five deer knocking him flying every few yards and biting the crap out of him. I tore around in the truck and went after him, honking and screaming. Darling cousin hopped in the flatbed and I took off as fast as the old beater would go. The deer chased the truck until we out distanced them.
It wasn't funny when it happened - I was scared shitless that my cousin was going to be killed. After I heard what he'd done to deserve it, and gotten a glance at the teethmarks all over his ass, the sympathy faded into gut-busting laughter. He had one or two bites on his arms and back, and about 15 on his butt. He also had some perfectly hoof-shaped bruises over his backside and his upper shoulders.
He tried to bribe me to keep the real story under wraps. I just couldn't, in good conscience, pass up the chance to use the phrase: "My cousin got beaten up by Bambi!"
I spent much time as a youngster on a reservation with my cousins. My older cousin went through a phase where he wanted to join a warrior society. It's common, with many native american youths. However, my cousin's phase took him on a journey that let him play cowboys and indians all by himself.
He learned how to handle a bullwhip (from me, who learned at Sturgis) and he learned how to handle a lasso. From that point on, nothing was safe. People, small trees, cars, rocks, our poor elderly sheep and goats. Not the wolves - even darling cousin at his most testosterone fueled wasn't that ignorant.
One day, while out in the pasture, he saw some deer and thought he'd try to lasso one of the half-grown fawns.
Bad mistake.
Everyone thinks deer are all cute and graceful and stupid, relatively harmless hayburners. They aren't. They're evil when threatened. I happened to be out in the truck, taking out the mineral licks, and saw darling cousin bolting for the house hellbent for leather. With four or five deer knocking him flying every few yards and biting the crap out of him. I tore around in the truck and went after him, honking and screaming. Darling cousin hopped in the flatbed and I took off as fast as the old beater would go. The deer chased the truck until we out distanced them.
It wasn't funny when it happened - I was scared shitless that my cousin was going to be killed. After I heard what he'd done to deserve it, and gotten a glance at the teethmarks all over his ass, the sympathy faded into gut-busting laughter. He had one or two bites on his arms and back, and about 15 on his butt. He also had some perfectly hoof-shaped bruises over his backside and his upper shoulders.
He tried to bribe me to keep the real story under wraps. I just couldn't, in good conscience, pass up the chance to use the phrase: "My cousin got beaten up by Bambi!"
