Creatures of Habit

As for the first item, Lois has been very apologetic to me. Accepting the public humiliation of being the latest woman to be seduced by Morrisson. She has been loudly complaining about his ineptness as a lover.

She admits that she has a reason for what she did but she also has publicly confessed that she does not have any excuse for embarrassing me.

Turns out for an egotist such as Neal, that braggadocio is not really that much of an accomplishment. For anyone who doesn't spend their lives squatting on a barstool.

Lois's bravery in the face of public scorn while volubly deriding the Town Male Slut, has actually encouraged several other women, including one of his ex-wives (the one who is still living in these parts) to come forward.

All of whom over the years, have had the misfortune to be poorly fucked by the 'Boy Wonder' of the Morrisson clan. Joining Lois in publicly denouncing Neal's narcissist incompetency at his self-aggrandizing claims of sexual proweress.

There is now going around, a rumor or a joke, depending on your viewpoint. The question has been circulating. Why Neal has never managed to father any children?

On any of the girls and women he has fucked over the years from High School on? Including his wives?

So much for his status as the Alpha Bull, turns out he's a bullock.

Wether you like that description or not, he's just a mouse that squeaks. An annoying mouse.

Wether, get it? Oh you city boys, wiki the damn word!

While Craig was loading our gear into his truck, I was talking to his wife, Bonnie.

"West came by this morning and said to tell you howdy! And he's going to have a patrol car keep an eye on my house, while Craig and I are gone."

She shook her head and with an exasperated tone, said.

"The big buttinski. He's a good bother. Good brother! And a good friend to you, Ron."

Chuckling at her humor, I nodded agreement as I handed her the keys to my truck and my house and then casually mentioned.

"I talked to Lois on the phone last night and she said she might need to get a few things and some clothes from the house this week."

Bonnie's face puckered up in a grimace of annoyance.

"I told her to call you and arrange for you to let her in while I'm gone."

In an exasperated tone she asked.

"Heyzeus! She still refusing to return?"

I nodded and shrugged.

"She's still punishing herself, even though I keep asking her to come back."

While Bonny was shaking her head and tsking at Lois's self-flagellating stubbornness.

I also mentioned.

"Listen Bonnie, the house is clean enough for me from the last time she was in there. So please, if Lois wants to do anything for me, tell her to fix me some meals and leave them in the freezer. Don't let her go crazy like the last time she came by!"

Bonnie sympathized, she and Lois had been friends since grade school and she had some inkling of the guilt-trip Lois was putting herself through.

I need to bring this annoyance of Mr. Big Mouth Neal Morrisson to a satisfactory conclusion. To close the books, so to speak.

In some spectacularly public way, that does not send me to prison and gives Lois an opportunity to make public amends for embarrassing our marriage. To absolve herself of the guilt without broadcasting that I am insufficient as spouse and a lover.

Definitely before any one of the many husbands, boyfriends, relatives, etc; of all the females Neal the Sleazy Steer has taken advantage of since High School, get the clever idea of sniping him.

Of course everyone will think it was me. Okay, truthfully? It wouldn't particularly bother me that someone else punched the asshole's ticket and I got blamed.

I'm pretty sure the State would have a hell of a time paneling twelve jurors willing to convict me.

They'd have a worst time finding twelve people in this county who aren't related to or aren't friends with or who hasn't worked next to someone who'd never been fucked over financially and otherwise by Neal and his family these many years.

No, what concerns me...now, please...do not take this the wrong way. I want to be honest with you.

From my viewpoint as a professional. Frankly, most of you people out there shoot as poorly as you drive.

As the joke goes.

"At one end of the leash is a dog and on the other end is the moron the dog is walking."

Sorry Sonny, if my honesty offends your sensitivities. I base this opinion upon my personal observations.

There just are not that many people, shooters or drivers, who put much effort into learning to use their machinery, correctly and efficiently.

Or, display the patience to give either specialty the minimal hours of training and practice to become proficient.

It's the "Ten Thousand Hours Rule" that separates the professional from the amateur.

Too many people go through life complacently settling for accomplishing mediocrity.

Maybe again the accountant in me is rearing up in supercilious snobbery?

I just figure that if any of those other outraged men start jerking a trigger instead of their cocks, they're more likely to wind up shooting innocent bystanders than that life-long lucky turd.

Neal must have been born clutching a four-leaf clover!

The Truckstop on the Old Highway has been there since the late Twenties.

In the Sixties, the Interstate went through to take most of the traffic volume. However, some Legislative skullduggery resulted in connectors from the old to the new routes coincidently being built close to the site of the Truck Stop, keeping it a busy business.

Also didn't hurt that the same backroom deal got the State Police Barracks and the Official Truck Weighing Station located close by.

The four of us were all scarfing down our last enjoyable breakfast for at least a week. It's going to be all our own cooking at the cabin and when we have to overnight on the chase.

From experience, we all knew that none of us will ever win a cookoff. By the end of the week, old surplus MRE's are going to be tasting pretty damn good!

Jerry and I were sitting side by side in the booth, Craig and Bob were across from us. Suddenly, Jerry interrupts our perennial arguments over fishing bait.

He elbowed me in the ribs and with a stage whisper that could be heard across the busy, noisy restaurant

"Hey Ronnie, take a look! Those two State Mounties sitting at the end of the counter, are watching us. Watching you, I'd bet!"

I just snorted as I forked myself some more fries and smeared those through a mixed blob of ketchup and Tabasco on my plate.

Craig and Bob turned their heads to look. I chewed, swallowed and wiped my face with a couple of paper napkins, before answering.

"For crying out loud guys. They showed up more'n ten minutes ago and made me right away. West probably asked them to confirm I'm where I told him I'd be."

Jerry pointed out the obvious "Uhh, ain't the State Highway Patrol Post and weighing station right close to here?"

I took a drink of my iced tea and joked "Ain't that damn convenient for me?"

All three of them gave me a puzzled look. Wondering. What the hell did I mean by that?

Rolling my eyes at their lack of imagination, I meanly warned them.

"I hope you guys got your vehicle registration and insurance paperwork up to date. Don't have no contraband in your vehicles? No unpaid tickets?

I'll bet you, there will be at least one Police stop or checkpoint ahead of us."

That made my buddies nervous, wracking their brains if they'd forgotten a minor misdemeanor or two.

"Then, when we get to the National Park entrance. I'll further bet you that we'll get a close looking over by the Park Rangers and the Game Warden.

So, everybody got their Deer tags and range permits in order?"

Yep, my predictions turned out correct. Though the State Police officers who stopped us, were obviously only interested in confirming that the real Ronald Reagan Waterway was physically present in Craig's truck. And that we were well on our way up the Old Highway into the Squire Heights.

The Park Ranger and the Game Warden were a little more thorough. Double-checking our tags and permits were all in order.

As we started off through the Park, stretching my neck, I could see in the passenger-side mirror, that the Ranger was talking on his jeep radio. Most likely calling the State Police Post to relay a message on to Sheriff Warsaw.

Since there are easily a hundred routes out of the Park, either on two feet or four or by wheels. I'm sure, we'll get an official visitor or two at the cabin every couple of days, checking up on me.

West is serious about keeping me out of trouble. Just as I'd been expecting. A good friend, indeed!

Up Lumbering Road, is Little Bridge within the south section of Squire Heights. Little Bridge is a small community of less than a couple of hundred people year around. Set in the middle of the remaining privately owned properties and grazing leases surrounded by the Park.

On the bluff overlooking the one lane stone bridge built in 1935 by the WPA. Is acreage owned for several generations by Mike Halley's family.

There is located a long, one-story. stone and log cabin.

Before 1900, it been a bunkhouse used by the lumberjacks clearing the original forest. Then by the ranch hands that followed.

After that huge spread had been broken up in lawsuits between the heirs. Eventually much of the abandoned, spoiled land became the core of the modern Park.

The bunkhouse was then used by the WPA workers who built the Park facilities and the roads and planted many of the trees we see today.

We picked out our bunks. I tossed my sleeping bag onto the canvas covered foam pad of the top bunk over Craig's. We'll be sharing the tall locker next to our bunk to keep our gear and rifles in.

Two other men showed up, with their teenage sons. Mike Halley and his fifteen year old son, Kelvin. Yeah, Mike's got a degree in chemical engineering. Why'd you ask?

With Mike's brother Ed Halley and his sixteen year old son, Eddy Jr.. I wonder if Ed Senior had to be argued out of naming his boy, Comet?

Mike got out the chore hat, a chewed-up old stetson stuck full of old fishing flies. In it are tatty index cards with different chores written on them. Per house rules, all the men draw one.

Every other day we switch for a chore we hadn't done yet. Naturally we're going to grumble but it is the fairest system I've seen to handle the daily necessaries for a tolerably comfortable cabin life.

We're stuck with doing these chores ourselves, cause our wives selfishly refuse to attend too chop wood or pump water. Clean fish or butcher game or cook for us.

Can you imagine? Damned women preferring to be pampered at a fancy spa then keep camp for us mighty hunters?

Nope, neither can I!

Tis the sad lot of the Modern American Married Man. To be so neglected and abused by their spouses....Sad...Sad...

The boys are automatically assigned to help out with all the camp chores. Whenever extra hands are needed hauling in wood or washing dishes.

This way they get the educational opportunity to try out everything and learn all they'll need to know when they're in the wild on their own.

It ain't easy keeping a straight face when we tell them that. They just roll their eyes in exasperation. They may be green but they ain't stupid!

Lucky for me, I got the firewood detail. First day is always the best for that chore. Before shutting up the cabin, the last visitors out filled up the wood rick.

Still, I went ahead and chopped some more wood, to show the boys how to safely work with a handaxe. Before switching to the wood-splitter. Good exercise and safer than an axe.

I allowed the two boys to haul in a few bundles of cut wood. Building up the stacks next to the wood stove and the fireplace. I explained that we do not use these until the weather is so bad outside that the rick is soaked.

Then I showed them how to clean out the fireplace ash and the stove ashpan. Hauling the bucket out to the low fenced pit where we dump the ashes and burn trash in.

It also serves as a handy pissoir if at night you don't want to be stumbling back and forth all the way to the outhouses.

Following with teaching them how to start a fire in the stove and in the fireplace. Having each of them take a turn. Then we went to the outside fire-pit used during good weather.

Here, I displayed for their edification several different methods to starting a fire with the wind blowing and in wet weather. Then practice putting out the fires.

Can't say either kid was enthusiastic about me making them do the heavy lifting but they paid close attention on the lessons for fire starting. They were smart enough to understand learning how now could save their butts another time.

Then I sent the boys to help Ed. He'd drawn clearing the brush and leaf debris around the cabin. It's been twenty years since the last big fire in this area and that's making everyone antsy.

With the not so subtle enforcement from the State Forestry Rangers and the County Fire Marshal, the township has been cracking down on the landowners to clear-back firebreaks.

You want to watch loud, very loudly political free-for-alls?

Come to a township meeting if on the agenda is to be a discussion about permitting controlled-fires. As advocated by the those concerned to try and prevent a possible greater, more damaging conflagration.

If the debates don't end in at least one or two fistfights than the participants hadn't had enough to drink.

Jerry was chef for tonight's meal. He had put one of the two pans of Bonnie's fried chicken that Craig had brought, into the oven with a smaller pan of breadsticks till it all heated up.

Mike's wife had sent her Six Bean Salad, Jerry mixed that with a large container of store bought macaroni salad that Bob had provided. Half went back into the case of dry ice with the rest of the fried chicken for tomorrow.

After we ate and while the boys were washing the dishes and pans. Jerry put into the oven, a big cast-iron pot of pre-brined kidney beans with chunks of fatback, seasoned with peppered sorghum. Also a large pan of aluminum wrapped Irish Potatoes. All to slow-cook overnight and tomorrow in the banked fire.

After the boys were done with their, uhhm, 'training'. Whom am I kidding? Their chores. Mike and Ed asked me to show their sons how to break down their rifles and properly clean them.

I noticed the men seem to be listening while I told the boys. That tomorrow, we'll go out to the shooting range the township keeps, for hunters to sight-in their weapons before heading out into the hills.

It's to encourage every one to practice in a safe area. Plus it prevents accidentally starting fires with ricochets.

Also there is the State Mandatory Firearms Safety Course and Refresher. The certificate card has to be presented with hunting permits when requested by the Game Wardens or Park Rangers.

I inspected each boy's weapon. Explaining a couple of things for them to be mindful of. After that, all weapons out were secured back into their respective lockers.

Jerry and Craig were playing cribbage, the boys got out a Chinese checkers set and played me.

Bob was already in his bunk snoring. Having to prime the pump and fill two eight-gallon barrels of water by hand must of tuckered him out. And I imagined the flask of whatevercohol he's been nipping at since we arrived, also helped him to relax.

Me, I'll wait till after we've done shooting and have a reason to celebrate before I'll indulge in more then a single beer at supper.

Ed and Mike were sitting out on the porch, smoking cigars they were never allowed at home and enjoying the night sky.

As everybody got tired enough to sack out, they came back in. Mike commented.

"Looks like we're going to get some fog by morning."

Ed agreed.

"Yep. We could see it's already socked in through the valley. The OCAA report, I checked on my computer this morning, predicted the humidity should continue to rise. At least verge, maybe overcast and light showers off and on the next few days. Probably be too warm for more snow. Though if the sky clears, we could get snap freezes."

Mike commented.

"Around here, you have to be cautious of black ice on the road."

Ed groused "Great choice! Mud or ice?

That put a sober look on all our faces, thinking of driving on ice covered roads. Or slogging through the brush with mud-caked boots and everything heavy with wet.

Kelvin and Eddy just came back from taking a piss and were stripping down to their longjohns to sleep in, like the rest of us.

Eddy Jr. was chattering about how brightly Saturn and Mars were reflecting out there. That he would want to bring his telescope next time they came up here.

Kelvin mentioned "It feels like the temperature is dropping out there?"

A couple of muttered agreements and that ice underfoot wasn't no fun to hike on either.

I looked over to the boys laying out their sleeping bags on the end bunks and warned.

"If there are swings in temperature, we have to give our rifle-scopes time to adapt or it could make aiming unreliable."

They looked blank for a moment thinking about what I had just told them. Then they nodded, thanked me for the advice, said good night to everybody and settled into their bunks.

I was laying on my bunk, in the almost dark. There was a little light from the glowing embers banked in the fireplace and stove. And a battery-operated red LED nitelite over the little shelf by the door where we had several flashlights.

It still wasn't cold enough to zip up my bag. I don't think I was bothered by the variety of snores. I've slept in enough barracks and tents in the Army to automatically tune the bodily noises out.

No, I must admit I was restless how things would be playing out over the next few days back home. And fuck, I knew as well as anyone,. Anything can go wrong and will! As soon as its abso-fucking-lutely gaurraunteed to screw up your planning.

Finally I drifted off into a restless sleep. I know I woke up a couple of times. Once I had to go take a piss.

Heading out, I passed Jerry returning. We grunted at each other. Him going out, probably been what woke me enough to get up and go for myself.

The next morning, it was a pleasant change, that at the township shooting range, everybody listened to my instructions. And were smart enough to ask questions when they didn't know something.

And the Safety Course went quickly and efficiently. At least this year, no one showed up drunk. Even Bob was sober.

The Boss Ranger showed up at the cabin that afternoon. Checking up on me, of course. Taking advantage of his presence, I got him to show us on our maps, the best route to run our quadwheel ATV's, closest to our assigned hunting zone. Gullies and gulches too avoid if this rain continues to develop.

Kinda distracted, that night I lost about twenty bucks at poker. Jerry and Ed Jr. wound splitting the pot as the big winners.