Conversation with my father.
So Dad and I got up and hunted some milo that was just a little too big for the two of us to cover effectively. Although, I think we would have had better luck if it wouldn't have been so windy. Instead the two of us, drove to check a couple of other patches just to see what we could see. On the way, our conversation drifted like this:Me: Dad, what was the name of the guy who wanted us to pay him to hunt pheasants?
Him: Oh shit. Uh, what was his name? It started with an M, or a K...
Me: I can see his face. He was a bigger guy with dark glasses.
Him: Yes. That was him.
On our way to the field, I thought I recognized a house.
Me: Wasn't that the guy who blew himself up?
Dad: Oh the welder. The other Thiessen.
Me: Uh....
Dad: Yes. There should be a junkpile. Yep. That's his place.
Me: Well, where is Sterling Shelby's?
Dad: I don't know. We're not coming from the right way. I can't think if we're coming from the wrong way.
I just stared at him because he hunted all these places before I did. Makes me wonder how he remembered where to go sometimes.
posted by Rusty @ 9:21 PM
Comments: 2
