Dancing with the Rednecks

At first we didn’t know what was going on. Maybe it was some kind of discussion as Wild Man stood on Siderod’s yard, the two of them jumping around and waving their arms like crazy.
As both these characters can get pretty excited and agitated, we expected the discussion to generate into fisticuffs, but when they both jointly high-tailed it on the dead run down the street together, we looked for different answers.
Were they simply getting in shape for the upcoming Winter Olympics Torch Parade?
Maybe it was some sort of special dance as a prelude to the hunting season. After all Wild Man is always trying to transfer some of his culture and dignity to us uncouth slobs.
The rumours of this wild activity had spread like wildfire across Drizzle Creek and were being hotly debated at the bakery within fifteen minutes of being first observed. The Jackpine Telegraph works great here.
When Siderod and Wild Man sauntered in some five minutes later, a dead silence dropped over the debating table much the same as when the OPP walk in on the local Texas Hold’em Tournament. We gave them both a thorough once over with the greasy eyeball. Something was amiss.
They were both covered with bumps and dabs of white ointment. And each had an eye partially closed which wouldn’t be unusual considering the animated reports of their activities. But there were no accompanying black and blue blotches, and they both appeared to be on good speaking terms.
“What in tarnation were you two up to?” snorted Moose unable to contain his curiosity for another second.
“Oh, I was just helping Siderod knock down a hornet’s nest and it got a little out of hand. Didn’t tell me his wife had been poking at that nest for the last week and they were a little riled,” explained Wild Man as he reached for, started to light, and then re-pocketed the unlit cigarette.
“Riled? I’ll say the (expletive deleted) hornets were (e.d.) riled!” spit out Siderod in a rapid fire torrent.
“Amateurs!” sneered Moose with disdain.
“The only way to handle hornets is with a bottle of propane. You just squirt it in around the nest or into the eaves, wherever they’re at, and it knocks ‘em stupid. Freeze ‘em right up. Then you put the nest in a bag and burn it up in the fireplace,” he explained with the patience of a man lecturing his wife on the proper way to start a car.
“Geez, isn’t it kind of dangerous squirting propane around the house, especially up into the attic? What if there’s a spark?” I wondered always ready to question one of Moose’s well-intended lessons.
Moose dismissed me with a wave and moved on to other incendiary tactics for combating wasps and hornets.
At the next table Babs and Babe, the two gals from the Guilty Insurance Agency looked at each other and in unison said, “Better call Wailing Insurance and have his policy cancelled.”

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