Okay … I hate to admit this but here I go!
A couple of decades ago I was a deputy sheriff in our local county. Myself, and a buddy of mine, were also “fur harvesters!” (no sexual innuendos required) Back then, the pelts were high and a decent one would land $20 or more. Occasionally, while working the night shift, I would pick up road kill treasures. If the opportunity presented itself, I might “accidentally” run over the suicidal raccoon or bobcat.
One weekend, the office was getting a lot of reports night poaching. The local rabbit ranger (or squirrel sheriff) decided to ride along with me, as his truck was pretty well known to the criminal element.
It was getting toward the end of my shift. We had bagged a couple of poachers and were headed back to the barn. Just ahead was a low water crossing and sitting in the middle of the road on the other side of the creek was the largest raccoon I had ever seen. My eyes lit up when I saw this 25#’er and I thought of the money this pelt would be worth. But then, I remembered my passenger, the varmint marshal!
I was in a quandary … what was I to do? In an instant I devised a plan. I tilted my head back and feigned a huge yawn as I gently swerved to the right, trying to inadvertently run over the raccoon that was making a run for the ditch. I was in mid-yawn when I heard the unmistakable thump thump! I gasped with surprise and asked my partner, “did I run over that poor raccoon?” The answer, “nope … but I got him with the door!”
