When I was about 10 years old and beginning to think my parents were getting senile, I near got the thrashing of my life. And a crow started it all.
A schoolmate was showing off his pet crow at the school one day. I thought that was the most awesome pet ever. It would fly to him, perch on his shoulder and was just...awesome. I had to have him.
“What ya take fer him”?
“He ain’t fer sale”.
“Trade”?
“Nope”.
This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I’ll just have to get my own crow.
My dad’s outdoor magazines provided me the answer. An article in one of them was about crow hunting. It showed some guy using a live owl to lure crows into range. The owl so infuriated crows that they kept attacking the owl while the guy shot the crap out of them. I had to get an owl. I didn’t then know about plastic owl crow decoys, but I did know that Andy Klack, another schoolmate, had a stuffed owl. My plan was simple. Buy or trade for that owl.
Andy was tough to deal with.
“What ya take fer your stuffed owl”?
“What ya got”?
“$3.12”.
“Not ‘nuff”.
“A good pocket knife with 3 blades”.
“Got one”.
“Big box a comic books”.
“Nah”.
“One of dad’s girlie magazines”.
“Naw. I got’s a big sister. See the real thing sometimes”.
“.22 rifle”?
“Wut kinda rifle”?
“A pumper. Holds lotsa shells”.
I showed it to him when the folks were away, and the deal was on. My dad must have had a hundred guns stashed in a closet. He bought them at farm auctions and God knows where else. Most were rusty old single shot shotguns, a few doubles and .22 bolt action rifles. This one pump action .22 was way in the back of the pile. Dad probably didn’t even remember he had it.
My plan to trap a crow alive was simple. Set my stuffed owl under a big wooden box propped up with a stick. A string was tied to the stick held by me in a hiding spot near by. Crows attack owl, I pull the string as soon as one gets under the box.
Well, my plan never got that far. Dad was trying to make a trade with someone involving that particular rifle, but couldn’t find it. Gee dad, wonder where it went? Andy’s dad showed up at our house a few days later with Andy and the rifle Andy was forbidden to own. He told dad the whole story and gave dad back the rifle and I had to give Andy back his owl. I was sent to my room. Dad showed up a few minutes later and took off his belt. I started crying, really gushing tears. I guess dad felt sorry for me and put his belt back on but grounded me for two weekends. No fishing, bike riding, nothing. Just chores and back to room.