The winner in the K-Star Country Funniest Hunting Tale Contest is Steve Weatherly, who sent in this entry:
It started out as a simple pheasant hunting trip to Iowa. My friends and I have always been the type to suggest something, jump up and go.
So one night after about four delicious libations of alcoholic content we decided to go to my friend Jim's brother's house in Marshalltown. It was a long trip so we drove overnight.
I was driving my extended cab, Jim in the back seat and our LARGE friend Doug was in the front. The two of them got to talking pistols and Jim suggested that Doug look at his 380.
About this time we were just pulling into South Dallas; I told the boys to watch that gun -- so Jim took it back, shoved it into the holster and pulled the trigger.
The noise scared me to death just as much as the flash.
We drove on for a little, asking each other if they were okay and watching the gauges on the truck to make sure nothing was shot bad.
A little later as we were drivin', I told Jim that either he really scared me or something, because I had this warm, wet felling in back. So we pulled to the side of the Interstate and I looked.
Sure enough, I had been shot in the backside.
Now Jim is pretty upset -- because he works for the police gun range as a firearms instructor and has won several competitions. But we immediately pull off the road in South Dallas and stop in front of a liquor store to call information to get the number of a nearby hospital 'cause I'm shot in the butt.
The operator promptly transfers us to Dallas Police -- and on my use of the word "gunshot," police roll up like flies to a melon. The first two officers jump out yelling, "Who's shot?"
I was drinking a cold beer and slowly raised my hand.
"Where you shot?"
"In the butt," I said.
"Let's see."
So I bare my backside and up roll the paramedics. "Who's shot?"
I'm tryin' to finish my beer, but the whole scene is played over again; then comes the police sergeant and once again I have to bear my backside.
The sergeant asked me if I want to make an official report (which could cost Jim his t-close license) and I said no, I just want to pull up my overalls and find a doc.
The police point us to a hospital, and when we arrive doctors lay me on my belly and shove a quart-size IV into my arm.
Since I'd already consumed three or four cool beers I needed to find a bathroom. I yelled for help but the room had emptied.
So I unplugged the IV and started hunting a john. Finally found one, what a relief -- came back out and there stood the biggest hospital intern I'd ever seen, tellin' me I wasn't supposed to be moving around.
He then PUT me back on the gurney, wheeled me back to my cubicle and told me to lay on my belly 'cause he had to put something in me. I said oh-no, I don't go that route. He told me to shut up and take it like a man.
A big ol' turkey baster bulb full of the coldest liquid I'd ever felt shot right through the wound. It hurt more than the wound.
Then a doctor came in with some cute nurses; they all stared at the wound for a couple of minutes, one of the nurses saying it was kinda cute. I asked if I could leave.
"You're d@#% lucky, boy," he doctor said. "Inch over or down and you wouldn't walk no more." That made me really happy.
We finally get back on the road, me wearing a bandage/diaper that goes clean up to the shoulders. I'm drivin' -- no more beers for me -- and drive plumb to Iowa in time to hunt.
Well, Jim's brother had set us up in this pasture that had a draw that ran from end to end, looked great for birds, when suddenly I hear somebody say "Hey you ever been shot in the butt with an SKS?"
I asked Jim if he heard someone say that, he said yes. Then I heard it again. It was coming from a house way up on a hill. So I walked all the way up to this little 17-year-old who was doing the yelling. I told him, no, I had not been shot in the butt with an SKS, would a 380 do?
Then I showed him my wound.
I didn't notice his mama and sister standing in the door.
Wellll, the mama blushed and the sister laughed.
I gathered myself up and told the mama we had permission to hunt the field from her husband and she best tend to that doggone boy of hers!
It don't take long for news to get around that town. I was the talk of the town, glad when we left.
Best part of the trip besides the hunt was gettin' Jim to powder and bandage my butt every night.
Headed home, coming through South Dallas, Jim's drivin' fast and gets pulled over. And you guessed it, one of the cops that was there on THE night is the one who gets out of the car, comes up and looks in the window and says, "Aaauuhh heell ya'll already gave us enough talk for a week, get your butts back to Houston!"
So we did.
