“Some people hate dogs, and I’ve never understood why. I’m an experienced dog trainer, but I got tired of training dogs whose owners despised them and only wanted protection animals. After hearing that one of my graduates was mistreated by his owner, I hit the breaking point. I developed new rules for my business. Well, they were unwritten rules . . . ones no one else knew about. When the clients really hated their dogs, I threw in a few hostile training commands. They barked whenever anyone said ‘sit,’ ‘heel,’ ‘roll over,’ ‘get off the couch,’ or ‘bad dog.’ If someone said ‘literally’ or ‘super,’ the dogs growled and went into attack mode. That didn’t work out well when one of my Tibetian Mastiffs experienced his first slumber party with a group of teenagers. So many ‘literallys’ and ‘supers’ were tossed around that the dog went into a rage. Luckily, Thorny Titus, the family’s hefty hedgehog, casually walked up and curled into a ball when the dog charged at the girls. The burly Mastiff ran into the spines and yelped away, crying. The incident killed my reputation, and I lost my business. Most people didn’t care that I manipulated the dog to annoy the family or carelessly endangered their lives by inserting ‘kill words,’ but they were upset one of my protection dogs was bested by an overweight hedgehog.
Unemployed Dog Trainer
Mary Poppins Kills a Butterfly
The words Love Knows No Bounds Even When Your Love Defecates in a Box appeared in white on the black screen. It faded to show an overhead view of a clearing in the forest. The narrator’s voice, one with a deep southern drawl, said, “Try JayTimmy’s Petacular Pet line for that extra special pup, pussycat, or hedgehog in your life.”
“They’ll love the elegance, the shimmering jewels, the precious metals, and our proprietary catnip glaze that coats all our fine pet jewelry pieces. Dogs and hedgehogs may not react to the coating, but the pussycats will love it!”
“And now, your pets are guaranteed not to die from licking, biting, or scratching our jewels, earrings, precious metals, tutus, or leg bands. Yep, no more tiny coffins and cremation costs, folks. No more digging shallow holes in the backyard and taking out all your grief on the rest of the family.”
“No more punching your best friend’s dog or cat in the butt when they’re not looking after they’ve bragged about how they have the perfect pets. No more stuffing laxatives in the puzzle toys of your uncle’s obnoxious Terrier or coating the perch of your sister’s lovebird with Vaseline.”
“That’s in the past, everyone. JayTimmy promises to have your pet’s best interests and health in mind. Now. . . let me take a second to mention the tragedies that occurred not too long ago. We’re sorry for all the pain we caused and all the pet cemeteries we filled up to capacity. Seventeen hundred deaths are horrible, yes.”
“If it were up to me, it would be zero. Or at least 97. . .no . . . make it an even 100 cause I don’t like the sound of that ’97’; it sounds subversive. Maybe that means adding a few Chow Chows or Pomeranians to the death count, but what’s a few more gonna matter?”
“A dang shame, but we moved past that and continue to improve our products, so your Chihuahua doesn’t vomit purple foam or jump on the couch and lose a foot.”
“Your beautiful Persian can strut in style wearing a necklace that won’t burn her neck or cause dementia, and your Siamese can sport a diamond-studded tutu without her hind legs separating from her torso.”
Leaving the overhead view, the camera zoomed in on a large clearing with sunflowers and three large moss-covered rocks. In the center of the clearing was a wooden playhouse with a slide, climbing bars, and a swing set. Franz Schubert’s Marche Militaire played in the background.
The camera panned to the north side of the clearing by the trail entrance and focused on a cheetah-like cat creeping up to the sunflowers on the border near the oak trees. It was a beautiful beast, an F1 Savannah, with gold fur, black spots, and large pointed ears, but the camera panned back to the animal’s tail end.
A purple tutu decorated with tiny diamonds and embroidered with the name Mary Poppins adorned its rear, and the cat strutted confidently and didn’t seem bothered by the tacky ballerina gear.
The film speed shifted to slow motion when the cat saw a yellow butterfly flutter past her head. She turned her head to the right and tracked a Monarch butterfly landing on a sunflower.
The Monarch was closer but dining on nectar and not moving around very much. The other one, a Mimosa Yellow, fluttered around like a maniac. Her gaze shifted from one target to another, but she jogged to the yellow butterfly as it approached the swing set.
When the soundtrack went into a crescendo, the cat leaped into the air with the diamonds twinkling from the sun’s rays. She swatted the butterfly, turned it into a cloud of yellow dust, and then landed on the rubber seat of the swing set, which rocked it back and forth.
Keeping her balance, she eyed the frame the swings were screwed into and hopped to the top. It was only 4 inches wide, but she casually trotted to the end of the wooden frame and sat down.
She turned to the camera as it was coming in for a close-up and screamed. The raspy squawk echoed through the forest as the camera zoomed backward.
The words JayTimmy Petacular appeared in small block letters at the corner of the screen in the forest. They quickly expanded, flew to the center of the screen, and broke through a clear wall. Splintered pieces of glass shot in all directions in slow motion.
“This jerk stole that from the Friday the 13th trailer. What a dingus,” said Jarvos.
“Nice observation, Mr. Stoyner. But please refrain from commenting until the end of the ad,” said Prollen. Jarvos smiled and nodded his head.
The narrator from the beginning appeared, superimposed over the forest scene, in a camouflaged business suit and an orange hunter’s cap.
He looked almost like Darden P. Johnson, but the dark Aviators hid his eyes. He said, “So you see folks, your kitty can even hunt in their JayTimmy wear and look pretty dang fabulous.”
“Once again, I’d like to personally apologize to all the cats, kittens, dogs, and puppies that my company murdered with our prior line of fine pet jewelry and outerwear.”
“I think we killed a few horses, birds, and maybe just one iguana that swallowed a cyanide-laced dog collar. It shouldn’t have happened, but at least we gave those craft coffin makers some business. “
“Those poor fellas make the occasional buck when some rich old lady loses a yappy dog, but it really helps them out when there are multiple fatalities. And boy, when it comes to high death counts and propping up the tiny coffin market, JayTimmy beats the competition. “
“We’ve killed over 500 puppies, destroyed families, ended marriages, and broken countless hearts, but we’re always willing to improve. I’m not just saying that; it’s coming right from my big ‘ol chubby heart!
“By the end of the day, we came to the conclusion that making a pet jewelry line without poison may solve the problem. There are no toxic chemicals or poisons in the jewelry we make for humans, but I guess . . . well, we just wanted to be different with the products we made for pets. “
“We cut some corners regarding our suppliers, and we paid a price for it. Well, we actually made a lot of money, even though some customers sued us for killing their pets. But since we proved that animals shouldn’t be chewing on jewelry in the first place, we won our cases, and I guess our only losses were those attorney fees.”
“It hurt our rep a little bit, but we’re bouncing back in style with our new and improved JayTimmy Petacular. I guarantee our bracelets, tutus, scarves, tail rings, and clip-on earrings are 100% pet-safe.
“No more crying over that wooden cross behind your tool shed. We care about your furry babies and promise not to kill them this time. God bless all the world’s pet parents, and see you soon.”
*** Bobcat Hunting With Darden P. Johnson***
Skernston Forest is densely covered with longleaf and southern pines, and like many old woodlands, it has its share of legends and scary stories. Older residents think it’s haunted, but some stay away because a crazed Boy Scout leader, Clemy Perkins, slipped a large handful of tranquilizers into a cauldron of beef stew and shaved the heads of 20 young scouts in their sleep in 1986.
He failed to extinguish the campfires when he took off with his clippings and left the snoozing bald children in their tents. After a wind gust sent the embers into the pine straw, a fire quickly spread and moved closer to Troop 999’s tents.
Luckily, Clauson “Moonchild” Forester woke up first and tried to wake and warn his friends. Some of the boys had to be dragged by their sleeping bags to safety, but those with higher tolerances for painkillers and other various opiates were able to assist in the rescue.
The fire scorched 60 acres but didn’t claim any lives. However, the assault on the kids and burned land led to a lengthy sentence for Clemy Perkins.
Two sheriff’s deputies caught him in the act behind his cabin. He was pasting the scout hair onto a giant Bigfoot statue he’d been working on for months.
Darden P. Johnson was one of the scouts shaved that night. After the incident, Darden struggled a little; he had nightmares of thousands of motorized blades shredding his curly blonde hair. In his dreams, he could hear Clemy laughing and snorting like a pig like he always used to.
To help the bald children, a nearby wig outlet donated a batch (they dubbed the British invasion series) to the boys to assist with their recovery. Although It’s Always a Good Hair Day promoted its act to benefit the community, it was sued by two attorneys representing aging British rockers.
The owners of the state’s premier fake follicle outlet didn’t realize they’d violated copyright by replicating the moppy hairstyles.
Darden’s whig made him look like a miniature Ringo Starr, and his mother had a rough time getting him to ditch the rug when his hair grew back. He refused to give it up and pushed her back when she reached for it.
She tried grabbing it several times, but although he was goofy and not the most coordinated youngster, he was quick and protected his toupee like a German Shepherd. Doris Johnson was frustrated and embarrassed for her family. They were, after all, Elvis supporters, not Beatles folks.
However, she didn’t give up and soon found inspiration from her son’s ex-scoutmaster and waited until he was asleep. After taking the last pull from her Camel Light and stamping it out, she dimmed the lights and headed toward her disturbed son’s room.
She crept up to his bed and stifled a giggle when she saw his arms clutching a photo of Ringo in his Sgt. Pepper costume. What a dingbat, she thought. She lowered her right hand slowly toward the shimmering hairpiece, then ripped it off and charged into the living room, throwing the bowl-shaped mass into the fireplace.
Darden ran out of his room screaming, with his hair flattened from constant wig-wearing, and headed to the fireplace to rescue his Ringo, but his mom grabbed him and held him back. Doris tried to calm him down while he whimpered and mumbled the lyrics to Yellow Submarine in a monotone like he was in a trance.
Forty-seven years later, Darden sat 20 feet from the forest floor in a deer stand and squawked into his mobile phone. The metal structure shuddered as he shifted his weight; he had put on a few pounds but not enough to bother him.
He had the classic male hourglass physique if the hourglass was heated with a torch and shaped with a leaf blower until the center expanded.
“My daughter asked the same thing,” he said. “Yes, it’s legal; it’s a dang wild cat—a killer. Would rip the head off your grandma in a second, and if you have a dog or cat, they’re done for if they come across one of these bastards. I’m helping control the population by poppin’ a few.”
“You see, by the end of the 19th century, we’d nearly wiped ‘em out completely in this area, but they rebounded a few years ago, and there’s too many now.”
“I have every right, as a citizen of this fine land, to end that kitty’s life. . . why am I what? I’m whispering ‘cause the cat has ears, Howard, and it’s not as dumb as you.”
“And no, it’s much bigger than a housecat. . .well, you heard wrong. It’s not just a little bigger; it’s much bigger and nasty too. Its fangs can puncture a paint can, and it climbs up trees like a monkey in the rainforest.”
Most serious hunters in the world, especially those without Darden’s eccentricities, would not speak to their friends on a mobile phone if they wanted to be successful and most likely would not look for bobcats in the afternoon. Bobcats are not known for hunting or exploring in the middle of the day.
“Crepuscular, what the heck are you talking about? I’ve never heard of that before…well, then I’ll just wait till dusk to shoot ‘em. I’ll watch a movie on my phone and maybe take a nap. But I’ll be ready for it. Yeah, I heard what Dirty Frank said about the whole thing. He thinks he’s an expert in hunting, but to me, he’s just a damn loudmouth.”
“I’ve heard that you shouldn’t be in a tree stand, and it’s better to hide in cover from far away before you start using the call. But I don’t care; I’m sure someone has killed a kitty from a deer stand before, so I definitely won’t be the first.”
“I’d rather be up high anyway, in case one of the cats flanks me when I’m looking the other way. I don’t want it creeping up on me from behind. Those ‘ol cats have long fangs and sharp claws, and I’d rather shoot ‘em in the neck from the safety of my double-wide stand.”
Darden’s face turned red, and he got a little annoyed with Howard’s laughter. “Yeah, it’s double-wide, so I have enough room to film and hold my cooler and my guns and ammo and all that camera gear, so stop laughing, you idiot. You’re not so trim either, my friend.”
Darden’s lower lip curled into his mouth and exposed the patchy growth on the bottom of his chin as he listened to Howard criticize him. He wasn’t a prime candidate for growing a beard, but he was trying.
“I don’t care if you heard they hunt alone. I’ve seen them in groups before, and that’s bullshit that they’re afraid of people and never attack them.”
“That kid Billy that lived down the street from my Grams . . . Yeah, the one who looked like a miniature Roy Orbison with the dark sunglasses. Well, he got attacked by a deranged bobcat when he was playing with his tortoise in the backyard.
“The cat killed the armored-shelled slowpoke, and he was 45 years old. His daddy got him as a birthday present when he was five. He named him Doctor Moriarity. Yeah, his dad was a weird kid, I guess.”
“Can you believe that? You have this prehistoric creature living with you for decades. Minding his own business, not bothering anybody. . . and then some psychotic feline prances into the yard and ends all that slow-paced, turtley love he’s been giving all those years.”
“Naw, his shell didn’t protect him much; the cat pounced on his head, dug in with his claws, pulled his head closer, and then bit into him. Thing could’ve made it another 100 years, well. . . as long as it was part of a will and someone fed it.”
“And then he went for Billy, and Billy ran, but not fast enough. Just as he rounded the side of the house with the screen door, the bobcat tackled him and started tearing into his right armpit.”
“Some people say it was the deodorant, and it was strange that Billy preferred his mom’s Secret Antiperspirant to the Old Spice she bought for him. I mean, I’m not certain, but I think that cat was a dude, and he was attracted to the scent and went for the pit instead of the neck.”
“Which was good for Billy in the long run, and I guess the short run too since he woulda died if he’d got it in the neck.”
“He was saved when his grandma shot the cat with a pressure washer. She was cleaning the side of the house and didn’t notice the bobcat. You know, ’cause that compressor was so loud, and she couldn’t hear the kid screaming. “
“But she saw him running and came to the rescue with her giant compressor on wheels in tow. Blasted that cat right in the butthole, and it took off.”
“Billy recovered and doesn’t look too bad, but he doesn’t go diving anymore. So, I don’t believe that .02% or whatever you said your odds are of getting attacked by a bobcat. “
“I know there are plenty of injuries and fatalities from the cats . . . how do I know? I know ‘cause I hear people talking and know it in my gut.”
“This is a public service, for God’s sake! At least I’m not doing trapping or any of the crueler forms of bagging one. What I call “lazy hunters,” or trappers, use traps that just cut into their legs. That poor cat has to sit there and suffer till you finally get to him and put his lights out.”
“What I’m doing is more humane. You know, more American. One .30–.30 is all it’ll take, and I have my sawed-off as a backup. But before I shoot my cat, I’m going to tear into that po’boy and live-stream it for my Podcast. I told Betsy I’d give her a shout-out on my show about her delicious damn oyster po’boys.”
Darden laughed and said, “No, I’m not going to eat it cold ‘cause I don’t have to. I brought my hiking stove and got a full fuel tank. Might grill a few marshmallows after I clean my kill. I’ll hit you back when I start filming; bye.”
Man, he thought, I’m real glad Howard didn’t come along.
Big as a mule and useless as refried beans without the beans. How does he look at himself in the mirror in the morning without crying? I guess he doesn’t see what I see, but when I look in the mirror, all I see is greatness and, sometimes, Ringo Starr.
Since Darden had time to kill before the big hunt, he checked the inventory list on his phone and set up the cameras and mics. He had four cameras, but his newest model recorded in infrared and was attached to a swivel mount so he could turn it around toward the forest. He wanted to capture a bobcat sneaking up before he delivered the fatal shot.
He spaced out the three microphones around the stand’s perimeter and attached them to the rail. Most of the time, he pointed all of the mics toward him, but tonight was different. Darden wanted to catch all of the forest’s sounds, especially when the sun went down.
After watching a video of an overweight Canadian hunter shooting a Lynx, he set an alarm on his phone, pulled out his travel pillow, got comfortable in his chair, and drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, he was surrounded by beautiful women in black bikinis cheering his name; “Darden! Our King! Darden! Our King! Bring Us the Beast!“
He was in the same part of Skernston Forest as his deer stand, and with a dead bobcat slung over his right shoulder, he approached a tall brunette and dropped the cat by her feet. He no longer had a tubby physique but looked like a chiseled athlete in dreamland.
She said, “Thank you, my lord,” and held out her hands. As he approached, the other women’s faces changed. Their eyes got large, their smiles disappeared, and the white light shining through the forest died out and was replaced by a rusty orange.
Their eyes turned amber and glowed brightly. With their mouths opening, they grew fangs and hissed like cats.
The brunette lunged at Darden and sank her cat fangs into his neck while digging her claws into his back. He screamed and woke up. Man, where the hell did that come from? Hope to God that’s not what they call foreshadowing, but I guess I won’t mind the bikinis if the women attacking me don’t turn into frigging cats.
His oyster po’ boy had cooled down, but since it was wrapped up in foil, he figured it would be simple to heat it up with his portable gas burner and skillet.
Darden flipped on the gas lever on the burner and struck a match against the stand’s metal floor. As he lit the burner, he tried to calculate how much he’d just spent by lighting the match.
Strike-anywhere matches were hard to come by, and Darden paid a fortune to have a case shipped to his house from a private seller in Finland. He turned down the flame and jammed his po’ boy into the nonstick skillet. The sun was setting, and the nighttime forest was coming to life.
Although the LED lamps Darden used to highlight his scruffy face in the video were brighter than anything for miles and probably weren’t beneficial to his hunt, he figured that shooting a brief video shouldn’t hurt his chances of killing a bobcat.
He planned to turn the lights off when he finished eating, and since he had an infrared camera, he could continue filming his show. If there were as many of them in the woods as he thought, he would have several opportunities to shoot one.
After a few sound checks with his microphones and more than a few camera adjustments, Darden was ready to film and eat. As he hit a button on his phone to record, they approached silently, each spaced 10 yards apart.
When the mountain lions walked past the third marked tree on their route, they turned their heads up and screamed. The screeching barks echoed through the woods and glided into the audio track of Darden’s live Podcast.
“Okay . . . I’m not sure what that was. Couldn’t have been a bobcat cause I know they don’t sound like that! Probably some kind of bird, maybe a wounded owl or hawk?” said Darden. He loved astounding his viewers with his knowledge of wildlife.
The bobcats came from the north side, and the mountain lions crept up from the south. One of the cats would have been enough, but since he knew Darden would probably have several guns, Bob decided to send all four.
The mountain lions, Diana and Olga, were the backup crew and weren’t trained to go near Bob unless the bobcats were in trouble.
Bob and Laura found out quickly that training females was more challenging than working with males, but once trained, they were more focused than the males and less distracted by the raccoons, snakes, and nocturnal birds.
Like the cougars, Janet Leigh and Shirley Eaton wore gold collars outfitted with Bob’s homemade devices. They didn’t shock the bobcats but clicked when Bob sent commands from his watch. If he wanted them to scream, he sent the two-click command; three clicks meant he wanted them to advance.
“Umhhhhh . . . Man, thas wha I call a sanwith . . .,” Darden said, with a full mouth and remoulade dripping down his chin. He chewed for a few seconds, wiped his face with a Halloween napkin, and smiled at the cameras.
“Folks, I sure hope you’ll head down to Betsy’s Crusty Cajun Claws and Shells for one of her delicious po’boys. I’ve taken, what, four bites, maybe? And I haven’t even hit the halfway mark. There must be three pounds of oysters in this thing! Shit’s dripping everywhere, but Goddamn, it’s tasty!”
Janet Leigh leaped on the roof of Darden’s four-wheeler next to a pine tree and scaled up the tree until she saw a branch pointing toward the deer stand in the tree to the left. She climbed out onto the branch and waited until it was time.
“Now, after I finish this sucker, I’m going to teach you about hunting bobcats. If I spot one with the scope, I’ll turn one of the cameras around so you can see it.” Bob swiped over to the mountain lion controls on his watch and pinged the button two times.
Olga screamed Reeeraaaaaaaaah, and Diana joined in during the “aaaah” part. The sound sent a raccoon running up a tree east of Darden’s stand, which startled him and made him drop the sandwich on the stand’s metal floor.
“Damnit!” he said and grabbed his cat’s eye. After seeing the Burbs as a kid, he knew he would own one someday.
He looked in the direction he thought the sound originated but couldn’t see anything unusual. Janet jumped from her branch and landed on a branch above Darden’s head. “Shit, what the . . . said Darden, as he looked up and saw a growling bobcat swiping down at him with her left arm while gripping the branch with her right.
He dropped the scope and rushed toward the rifle and shotgun propped against the tree to his right but slipped on the remoulade from his sandwich and landed on his back.
Janet looked down at him and growled and waved her claw furiously. He heard a scratching sound coming from the other side of the stand where the ladder was attached and yelled when Shirley grabbed his ankle and bit it.
“Holy hellllllll!” screamed Darden, yanking his leg away from the cat. He scrambled against the railing and pulled himself up. While he kicked his right leg over the side, he thought, He didn’t get my leg as bad as I thought, but this is my only choice. Probably break a leg, but it’s better than getting eaten!
Darden moved his other leg over the rail while he held on and wondered why the bobcats weren’t moving toward him. He looked down at Shirley, and she growled while Janet dropped down from the branch and swatted at the rail beside Darden’s right hand.
He moved it quickly but lost his balance when the sweaty fingers of his left lost their grip, and he fell off the stand. Shirley yowled twice and climbed up toward Janet. She had discovered the wonders of Betsy’s cooking, and when Shirley went for the po’boy hanging out of her mouth, Janet pulled away and snorted at her.
Shirley growled but didn’t fight her sister; instead, she yelled at one of the cameras in front of her and sent it flying into the woods when she swatted it off the mount.
Laughter erupted from the 10,000 followers watching Darden’s live-streaming event. Their fingers danced around phones and tablets as they commented on Darden’s dinner manners and hunting skills.
As he stared at the sky with his left leg twisted in an unnatural position, Darden remembered his phone was still lying on the deer stand’s floor. He thought, am I going to get out of this? These damn cats are gonna kill me, and his anxiety ramped up when he saw the cats approaching him.
He could barely move his arms or legs, but the fear crippling him was more powerful than his injuries. The backup crew was staggering the screams, and the sounds seemed to surround him. Reeeraah! Reeeraah! Reeraah! Reeerah!
What the hell is making that sound . . . it can’t be. Cougars disappeared around here 100 years ago. Kind of sounds like em, though. Like that National Geographic I saw the other night, he thought, as Diana and Olga cried in the distance again. Darden had hunted other animals before, especially when he was young, but he was never afraid of the game.
Doves, quails, ducks, and a wounded rabbit were the only creatures he’d faced. The cougars kept screaming until Bob tapped his watch, and they ran off.
One of the bobcats had something in her mouth. It was Shirley; she strutted up to him casually and dropped his phone by his right hand. Janet approached and walked around Darden until she was hovering over his head and looking into his eyes. She made a “wuhh” sound and licked him on the head.
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