Goin' Fishin'

Howdy, Billyjoe, how y’all doin’?…Saturday?…Fishin’?…with Jimbob? Wall, bring your beer and your ownself over here ‘n sit down so’s I kin tell y’all what really happened.

Twas last Saturday when me ‘n Jimbob went down to the crick with our fishin’ poles, can a worms, foldin’ chairs and cooler fulla ice ‘n beer that was so heavy we hadta stop ever little while to rest up and so we didn’t really get at the crick so early as we thunk we‘d a done when we stepped offen Jimbob’s porch at six o the clock thet morning’. See, here we were a walkin’ along the road a tryin’ to hold onta our poles, our can a worms, our foldin’ chairs and still carry thet thar cooler thet grew heavier each step. Jimbob finally thunk out our problem and declared we oughta put everthang atop the cooler ‘n then we’d a been able to hustle right along, so we done it, but we kept gittin’ out of step with each and the other and thangs kept a slidin’ off, so we took to countin’ out our steps just like them thar soljers done we seed one time on the RCA Telley Vision down at Mr. Grandin’s country store. It sure helped for a good bit, but it turned out the cooler was a mite heavier, so we stopped ever little while to rest and the little whiles kept gittin’ closer and closer to each and the other. The one thang thet saved us was thet Mr. Franklin, who usually drives to town of a Saturday for provisions and a beer or two with his ole buddies at the Ragged Bear saloon, right here where we’re a sittin’, came chuggin’ along in his pickup truck thet had seen better days twenty yars ago, seed us a struggling’ with our gear ‘n cooler ‘n ast if we didn’t think he could help us out by letting’ us ride in the back seein’ as how he was goin’ past the crick that thar morning’ but neither one of us could reckon why he was goin’ that direction because he always went to town for provisions ‘n a beer or two. Bein’ wore down ourselves, we allowed as how we’d be happy to hold down the back end of thet thar wore-out old pickup truck, so we quick-like threw our gear and cooler in the back ‘n then hauled our own selves in, ’n all the while Mr. Franklin kept thet truck a movin’ slow-like down the road. Now I don’t recommend you go right on out ‘n try to jump into a movin’ pickup truck jist to see how hard it is, but I’m a telling’ you it’s like tryin’ to jump onto a slow movin’ freight train which I know you’ve tried onct or twice in yer lifetime.

Here, Billyjoe, let me git a round….Barkeep, two more here….Thank ya kindly.

Now whar war I? Oh yeah. Well when we got right near the crick, Mr. Franklin slowed down thet old pickup a mite so’s me ‘n Jimbob could drop off our gear ‘n cooler ‘n then jump down our own selves, so we done it and were mighty glad to see we hadn’t lost any of our bait nor spilled anything outten the cooler. We knowed the spot we wanted to settle into to fish and were mighty happy to see it weren’t taken up by anyone else, so we set up our foldin’ chairs, rigged up our fishin’ poles, popped a top ‘n settled down to some fine relaxin’ in the shade. Twarn’t more’n two or three beers later when Jimbob had a bite ‘n scared the bejesus outta me the way he sprung up outta his chair and hollered out “I got one” only it wasn’t no keeper, so we settled in agin to relax. Wall, time went on her merry ole way ‘n me ‘n Jimbob caught a bunch a keepers ‘n swapped room in the cooler, beer fer fish. It was gittin’ on toward supper time when Jimbob declared it was ‘bout time to pack up and head fer home so we done started to do just that. The troubling’ part about the packin’ up was what should we do with thet thar cooler full of fresh caught fish in with all that ice when Jinbob declared thet we oughta let some of thet ice thet had melted down to just plain water out of the cooler so we took the top off and proceeded to tilt the cooler to let the water out when one or the other of us - Jimbob said it was me, but I knowed it was Jimbob - let go and the whole dad-blamed kit and kaboodle landed in the crick. Lucky for us we had sense enough to let go afore we-uns was swept along with the fish and the water and the ice into the crick. To make a long story short…

Well, Billyjoe, thank ya kindly for this‘n. I do ‘ppreciate it. My mouth was beginning to feel like a cotton boll. Be my pleasure to git the next one.

Now y’all’re probably wonderin’ what come next so I’ll try to git through it without pointing’ any more fingers at guilty parties. Turns out we didn’t need to keep any bait ‘cause we’d used all but one or two of them worms so we took pity on ‘em and let ‘em go in some grass down near where Jimbob - I mean - where the fish and ice and such were lost. Of course, the cooler bein’ empty wasn’t no problem to carry no more, so we could set off for home at a pretty good pace and I reckon Jimbob was mighty hungry ‘bout then ‘cause he started off mostly at a trot and kept a step or two ahead of me all the way so it was just blamed hard to keep up a conversation with me doin’ all the talkin’ and Jimbob just a hustling’ his ownself off towards home. Didn’t even say Howdy when we git to his house, so I just moseyed on home my ownself and had my supper. T’other day, I seed Jimbob comin’ down the road ‘n when he seed me he crosst over to keep from Howdyin’ me head-on like usual. Not very neighborly, I’d say, considerin’ we’d gone in halves on the bait ‘n the beer, even if Jimbob did catch most of the fish.

Now, can I buy y’all one for the road, Billyjoe?…My pleasure….Did y’all have a good weekend?