51. Topless Fisherwoman, Black Panthers

This morning while feeding and watering the horses, the young male goat, Pepper, held his place at the feed dish, uttering a growl at Odessa, the white Arabian. She moved to the next feed dish.
Saturday, I fished the early evening with my son, Hawkeye. He told me, "I was out here fishing earlier this week and came around a bend and saw this woman fishing by herself in a yellow kayak. She was topless, but she put her top on. Her husband must have been watching through binoculars from their house because he immediately came out in their bass boat and said something to her. She paddled back to the house, and he angrily made doughnuts while she paddled back in the kayak." Sorry, I'm not going to tell you the lake; I've given you a big enough hint with the color of the kayak. For the most part, this is only something you see when you spend a tremendous amount of time fishing. I asked Hawkeye what she was on a scale of a to 10, and he replied, "An 8, and I'm giving her a point for being a fisherman." No sooner had we finished the conversation than the woman and her husband sped past in their bass boat with her driving. She looked attractive.
Sunday morning, I was about to clean up the doggie accidents inside, when Tasha came out of her bedroom and began doing it. Tasha likes to maintain that I as a stay-at-home day do nothing all day, and she didn't like it when I told her that Audrey had remarked to me, "You couldn't find anyone to do what you do for $100 a day." Tasha had cleaned the accidents up for three mornings, and by Sunday she had enough.
Exasperated, she proclaimed, "I'm getting a dog door, and these dogs are going to poop and pee outside at night!"
"They can't go out at night; they'll bark," I objected.
At that, Mr. Hyde came out, and it was nothing but personal attacks at me and threats. Determined not to be either intimidated or to be her doormat, I replied with a few choice words myself. She went into her bedroom, and I could hear her coughing, a sign that her heart was slipping out of gear. I went down back to feed and water the horses. Later when she came outside, I said, "We can have a night door if we get a bark collar for the big lab. Whenever he goes out at night, he starts barking and he's got a big bark like his grandfather." Tasha agreed that his grandfather, Bear, had a big bark, but that was it. There's no working with Tasha: it's her way or the highway.
On December 31, 1998, my hunt for the mysterious black Florida panther began. My son, Hawkeye (also known as Bobby) and I were hunting at the Sandhill Hunt Club, 100,000 acres that extended from Steinhatchee north to Perry, Florida. Hawkeye and I were new to the club, and we had found a ladder stand and a wild game feeder. Hawkeye put out a metatarsal gland (a buck sex gland) climbed the ladder stand and made a few buck calls. I had stationed myself about a hundred yards away. As soon as Hawkeye called, a buck came running in, and Jon shot and killed him with one shot( a slug) from his shotgun. I was tremendously proud of him, and as he was too little at fourteen, I hauled the deer out over my shoulders.