White Collar Hunters

I do a hunting trip with some of the dads from my children's school each year.  It is a gas.  Generally four to six guys attend, and it is a different group each year.  It is a great relationship builder, and when I say it is fun, I cannot over emphasize it.

A couple of years ago, I had a new attendee we will call Chad to protect his identity.  He has a little experience with hunting, but he is what I like to refer to as a "White Collar Hunter".  White Collar Hunters look great in the field.  They generally have a nice gun and can often use it well.  They are often fun to spend time with and generally add to the revelry of the weekend.  However, they are lacking in one fundamental area- the cleaning of the prey.  Most White Collar Hunters frequent plantations and farms where there is usually someone on the premises who will clean your game for you.  It is great.  All you do is shoot it, bring it to the cleaner-of-the-game, go have a couple of beers, and then collect your meat.  It is packaged, iced, and ready to go lickity-split.  It must be how the lords do it in the Scottish highlands.  

On this particular hunt, Chad was the big winner.  He killed a couple of ducks, fell out of a canoe, claims to have missed a "10 pointer", and killed a wild boar.  I highlight the 10 pointer because it might as well be a mythical animal, not unlike a unicorn or a goblin.  He blamed it on the torrential rain, which I can vouch for, but I still doubt that deer exists.  However, he did kill a nice pig.

We dragged that nasty thing out of the swamp, threw it in the back of the truck, and dragged it back in to clean it.  I strung it up, handed Chris a nice sharp knife, and said, "Here you go."

He looked at me like a third eyeball suddenly appear on my forehead. 

Chad- "What's that for?"

Me- In my most diplomatic tone, I said "Well, to clean it with.  Now that you have killed something nice and big, you have to clean it.  It wouldn't be right to just shoot it and leave it.  Kind of wasteful"

Chad- "Who?...  Me?...  No, no, no.  You don't understand.  I killed it.  My job is done here.  It is time for me to go and bask in the glory of the hunt."

Me-  "No, no, no, Your job  just started.  Part of the glory of the hunt is getting covered in something really gross.  Bask in that," I said pointing the dead pig.

Chris-  "Um, I don't think you understand.  I did not sign up for this.  I am used to hunting at places like Tom Cousins.  You know.  You kill it.  They clean it.  It is very pleasant."

Me-  "I'm sure it is.  However, this ain't Tom Cousins place.  This is your Cousin Tom's place.  At your Cousin Tom's place, you clean your own game.  You didn't pay enough money for me to do it.  Plus, I don't work for you.  So, get busy."

Chris-  "Seriously?!  I don't know if I can do that!"

And yes, he was serious.  I told him I would get it started and help him out along the way.  Everytime it was time for him to get involved, he would have an automatic gag reflex, turn white as a sheet, and start sweating profusely.  Talk about gross.

I finally did most of the dirty work, leaving the dirtiest and grossest part for him.  I did that mostly out of spite and meanness.  I just wanted to see him throwup.  He handled it about like you would expect- poorly.  He finally went inside, grabbed some ziplock bags, stuffed his hands in them, and started shovelling out the guts of this thing.

Now, before you mock my friend Chad, I have to tell you that pig insides are grosser than just about anything else out there.  I am not entirely sure what they eat, but it can't be pleasant.  Tie that in with all the creepy things crawling around on their skin and the fat dripping off your elbows, it is not something you want to do on a daily basis.

Well, I heard some terrible noises coming from Chad that morning as he braced himself and started pulling out pig muck.  I am confident he threw up in his mouth at least twice.  He had to have choked it down while the rest of us were chortling at his misery. It was a beautiful thing.