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One fine October Saturday morn in 1952 big brother Ike came into the bedroom I shared with little brother Darl. Ike gave my bed a healthy kick, jarring me instantly wide awake. "Hey hop, wanna go huntin' "? Silly question.

I dressed, dug my shotgun out of the closet, found a box and a partial box of shells and was down in the kitchen in record time. Ike had made us two large bowls of oatmeal and heated up the breakfast coffee. Ike explained the rest of the family had left for town without me, since I fell back asleep. Chores were done, there was nothing urgent to do. The ground was froze, very lightly covered with snow and it was sunny out. A great day to hunt bunnies.

I wolfed down my oatmeal, covered with maple pancake syrup, just like Ike ate his, and we gassed up Ike's old Dodge pickup and headed out.

Ike drove down an old country lane leading to several isolated cornfields. We stopped, Ike got out, loaded his shotgun, climbed in the back and told me to drive slowly back and forth over the field. The corn had been picked but lots of ears lay scattered about on the ground and there were overgrown pastures between the fields. Drive over those too. He would shoot. When he pounded on the cab roof, I was to stop so he could retrieve the game. Illegal? Yeah.

Being a farm boy, I could drive since before I was 10. I was having a great time just driving. Ike finally decided I should have a turn at shooting. I got in the back and off we went. Not being as good a shot as Ike, I only managed to roll a few bunnies. Ike stopped and we did a body count. 35 bunnies, two pheasants, one being a hen. We tossed a tarp over them, stowed our guns and headed for a nearby berg with a bar called "Mosey inn".

Being a farm boy, big for my age, Ike thought if he smeared a bit of mud on my face and pulled down my cap, I wouldn't be noticed. We took a booth at the back, Ike got me a big pitcher of beer and a frost covered mug and I settled in with a handfull of Police Gazette's while Ike and some girl named Rita danced to the jukebox.

Sometime later Rita shook me awake and helped Ike into the cab of his truck. Ike was passed out. Rita asked could I drive. I don't know what I answered but I got behind the wheel under my own power. I did my best to keep the old Dodge between the fence rows, but a deputy found the truck at the fairgrounds, on the race track, out of gas, full of illegal game, Ike and yours truley sound asleep.

Needless to say, this didn't go over good at all. I was confined to the farm, except for school and church. Ike, being 22 then, went to jail for a few days. The Korean fight was still raging. A judge told Ike he should really think about enlisting. Ike was becoming well known to the law enforcement people around our county by then.

Ike did enlist, didn't see much action in Korea but stayed in the army long enough to be killed in 'Nam.

When I turned 18 I left the farm and went out into the world on my own. For a time I worked for a furniture manufacturing plant. Needing more temporary warehouse space, they rented an ancient three story building in the old part of town. The building had a freight elevator and had been used as a warehouse in the past. My job was to drive from the plant to the warehouse, unload the truck and stow the boxed up furniture on the upper floors. All day long. Simple, and boring.

One day, during a break, I looked about the old building. in the boiler room I found a few boxes of rags and some old rubber boots. One of the rag boxes yielded a greasy pair of coveralls. Before I even knew what hit me, I found myself stuffing rags into those coverall legs and arms. The boots I attached to the legs with wire and fashioned a head made from wadded up rags. I dubbed my dummy Delbert.

My boss always checked this warehouse at the end of our shift, after his crew had left. The supervisor usually came with him, to make suggestions for the next day. Delbert was waiting for them, wired to the underside of the elevator, which I had run to the top floor.

Next morning my boss got in my face as I approached the timeclock to punch in. "Hop, if you EVER do anything like that again, your fired". Then he told me, as the elevator came down and "Delbert's" legs appeared underneath, The super turned snow white and got all weak and shakey. Boss had to help him to a box to sit on.

A few days later I was transferred to an assembly line nicknamed "the killer" because it ran fast and few people lasted long there.

No animals were injured in this tale.