BritChaser
Well-known member
A few years back friends from LA, Salt Lake, Portland, and Denver, and I were hunting a friend's land in Sheridan Co., Kansas. We were a couple hundred yards into some nice milo stalks when my friend's teenage son drove up the road honking and waving us over. He said he and his dad needed help with a calf that had fallen into a swimming pool. No kidding. The abandoned farmstead on the other side of the road had a classic in-the-ground concrete pool with deep and shallow ends. The calf was standing in a foot of green slime in the deep end after having apparently fallen in during the night. We threw a rope around his neck and pulled him up into the shallow end. He was a bull calf with sharp four-inch horns, but he was docile as we pushed him over into the corner of the pool. We picked up his front legs one at a time and put them over the edge of the pool and then the guy from LA, a buff weightlifter from Manhattan Beach, put a post under the beast as far aft as possible, angled the end of the post up over the edge of the pool and gave a heave ho. We pushed its hindquarters over to the ground at which time he was no longer the docile, tired beast he let on to be. Oh no. Now he was a running, ornery rascal with head lowered dragging two people around who were digging in their heels while trying to hang on to the rope around its neck. He finally hopped over the hot wire to rejoin his herd. We went back to the milo stalks to continue the best season of pheasant hunting of my life.
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