Night Hunt

When I was a lad I had a best friend,

He was known back then as young Billy.

He lived down on the Membres near Faywood, I think,

And I know this is gonna sound silly…

But one night we went huntin, taking the dogs,

Hoping for a coon or sumthin else pretty.

But having no luck and feeling quite stuck,

Young Billy said, “I’ve got me an idie!”

“I think I might know just where to go

To find us the critter we’re seekin.

I saw him last month hiding under a stump

He’d be a really nice pelt for the keepin.”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about,

But his story sounded mighty exciting.

“I think I’m all in,” I said with a grin,

So, we set off to try and go find him.

“I can tell he’s nearby,” Billy said on the sly,

As we crept closer for a good shot.

“He’s right under those logs, I’ll stay back with the dogs

Since you’re the best friend that I’ve got!”

Encouraged by Billy and the thought of a pelt

To hang on my wall as a trophy,

I bent down to the ground and poked all around

Till my prey was revealed right before me.

I jerked back in fear, but too late and too near,

He had me dead to rights and point blank!

He let lose with his canon before I could shoot;

Out gunned and outsmarted, I think.

I stumbled twenty feet backward and rolled on the ground,

But nothing I did made a difference.

I jumped in the river and splashed all around

Hoping for some kind of deliverance.

Billy died laughing and I wanted to kill him,

But a better plan sprang to my mind.

I ran up and grabbed him, tackled him down to the ground,

And thanked him for being so kind.

Now we both smelled to high heaven, no getting around it

Both our moms kicked us out of the house.

So, we slept neath the stars for more than a week

And took our meals on the porch like some mouse.

I don’t hunt with Billy, I fear I can’t trust him

To always have my best interest at heart.

And he doesn’t trust me, on this we agree,

I’ll always even the score on my part.

But I’ll never forget that dark night on the river

When what I was hunting hunted me back.

Or that terrible critter who won the contest,

And the “friend” who set me up for attack!

Copyright © 2022 Philip R. Stroud

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