23 November 1987
Dear Dr. Weenie:
Enjoyed your reading me my letters so much thought I'd write you another one and still can't believe I have written you or anybody else that many letters.
My medical practice has picked up recently since Lulu got off all her meds but the lith. So has my footwork. She has recurring fits of boxing syndrome. I take most of these on the arms and shoulders but you never know when she may get lucky and strike the old nez or a peeper and I have given her so much sharp jewelry....
I tell her that my daddy always said if something was wrong water would fix it--dilute what ever it was in the system making it go haywire, drink lots of water. Then of course you are so busy taking a piss all the time you forget what it was that was bothering you.
I am suspecting my hart is not all it once was or else the script project has made it nervous or it might be the sulphites in this cheepo wine I drink--do they use sulphites to clarify the white wines too? These are the kinds of questions that set me quandaring of late as the old thing does the skip, then the WHUNK and then some little ones and then the pitty-pat, the pause, the WHUNK and frankly after abut 15 minutes of this I get so BORED that I YAWN and guess what, YAWNS cure the sucker.
Yawning and stretching are good? for the HART.
I've been seriously considering our prairie dog ranch since you mentioned that Doc Sambo Plumber had gotten him a PD plantation, and I think the PD can be made into something else besides a carrier of Bubonic Plague and a ruiner of hunting trails in the high plains. I think the PD might well someday replace the chicken. But first we have to get Doc Sambo to catch and fry some of them and experiment with the meat as did the Colonel, but think how many PD's you could raise on 71,776 acres; I'd guess at least a thousand PD's to the acre and then you'd need some MD's to de-plague them, maybe--oh, well, Mexicans could do that work.
I really did enjoy the antelope jerky. That antelope jerky was great. I dream daily and nitely about antelope jerky. Ain't no jerky jerks like pronghorn jerky. I did not want to deprive you and Dr. Dawn and The Great and the Conquerer as I hope you noticed I left a leetle bit of it there for you to ravenously devour.
But I have to get to the meat of this coconut by saying that Dr. Dawn stabbed me to the hart with her comment about murderers when we came in with that big dead dangerous female of the species pronghorn which had charged us, gored you, and trampled me--done this six times over and that final charge when all was lost the rifle got in her path and she tripped over it and it fired and she laid down and looked through the scope and DIED!
So what was our choice but to take her home for a decent skinning and butchering and to make some memorial jerky? NONE!
And Dr. Dawn calls us murderers?
The GALL!
The hutspha of that woman. But I never said nothing, did I, Son? I never said a thang. I jest taken it and her callen us murders when what that big old pronghorn bitch--did, did Dawn come out and look at the balls on that mother? NO!!!!! She just named me for a murdering skunk when all I done, Son, was I saved both our lives when she(the doe, not Dr. D.) tripped on that danged rifle. I did not KNOW it was even LOADED.
So like the Game Warden said, he said, "You got to take this old bitch home now she done killed herself, and I think he said cilled herseff, and you got to skin her and all and make the jerky and mess up the kitchen because that is the law when one of these old pests does herselfffffff innnnnnnnnn." He said in that lonnnnnng way the Wyo wardens sez hit.
Oh, well. Next year prepare the kitchen for our elks like porcupines with the arrows sticking out of them, they are big as mules and we will have enough elk burger to bore us until 1990.
I think we should arm our wives and take them along to back us up with elephant guns when those Elk charge us with our bows and arrows, those two big mombassa type wives with the guns only I wonder if maybe we should have steel plates on our backs and nice neck protector helmets if we do that as their AIM might not be all it should be, especially Lulu, who sometimes gets it all mixed up as when running a red lite.
There is a story about this about the short happy life of Mccomber, by an old drinking hunter whose name was Hemingway. You should read it. She shoots him on safari. It is a good story.
Please put me in the hunt(s). If check needed signal. I am serious about this stalking of the elk. Now I have defended myself against antelope I am ready to take on the next plateau.
The call from Anne Chenney will bear fruit. That book will make it into print and all we do afterwards will be only more valuable. So to cooperate with her is only to wax our own skiis. You always were the best, my favorite, I am sorry for the clothing you were constrained to wear as a child, but it is an IMPERFECT WORLD.
And I am you Old Grand Dad of your chirren---Always, OGD
7 March 2011
Dear Dad,
What in the world are you talking about? Perhaps your next missive will shed light on this.
your adoring son,
Jacky
Jack Maybolt, President Urban Poverty Law Center
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