My Dad Should Be Dead #5

Because it’s been a while since I have added any "My Dad Should Be Dead" stories, if you'd like to refresh your memory, click on the "Family Stories" link at the bottom of this post for all of the stories in this little series.

This one really wouldn't have killed him, but it still blows my mind.

My dad grew up in a small town with lots of open space, sagebrush and jackrabbits. So of course, when you have lots of open space and jackrabbits, and you are a young man with lots of friends in the same boat, naturally one of your favorite past-times is shooting those jackrabbits. So that's what they did.

They had a really good system set up, and they were very strict with some of their rules. In fact one time they kicked one of the guys out of their group for simply injuring a jackrabbit and then tormenting it. They wouldn't stand for that. But other rules included when and in which direction you could shoot. They were all loaded in the back of a pick-up truck, so some would shoot over the cab, some would shoot from the left side, others the right side, etc. They had a good system set up so nobody shot into anyone else’s area, and no one shot over anyone else's head. And although these were boys, and there were a lot of them, no one ever got hurt...

Ok, so why am I telling this story?

Because of what happened one day when it was just my dad and one of his friends out in his friend's field getting ready to go jackrabbit hunting, but had a few chores to do first.

This friend had to go out into a field and move the water. They crossed one field in the process, which was dry. My dad wondered when they would water that field, and the friend said not until next week. Of course they had their guns, on drop down holsters, which anchor to your leg, rather than up at your waist. They thought it was cool to just grab and shoot from down low, like ol' John Wayne (I don't know if John Wayne really had a drop down holster or not, but it sounds good).

Anyway, while they were out in the field, dad just passed the time by shooting at various flocks of birds while his friend moved the water. He saw one particular flock, out a ways, on the ground, feeding and watering themselves. So my dad grabbed his gun from his cool little drop down leg holster, and began shooting from the ground up and out towards the birds - bam, bam, bam, bam - like a hot shot would.

Well, nothing big and eventful came of that. He scared the birds off, the friend finished moving the water, and they both started heading back to the house. As they were passing through the dry field, my dad felt some water in his shoe, so he inquired of his friend:

Dad: "I thought you weren't watering this field until next week."

The friend: "We aren't."

My dad: "So why is my foot getting all wet?"

My dad looked down, and there, with every step he took, was blood - squirting from a hole in the top of his shoe.

My dad had athletes foot, so the burning sensation he felt when he shot his foot was ignored as a little athlete’s foot flair up. And the only reason it did feel like burning athlete’s foot, and not excruciating pain, was because amazingly the bullet went right between the bones of his first two toes. Only passed through skin and muscle and went right out the other side.

Go figure.

- Chel