Snow blanketed the ground. The trees, frozen in the cold, clacked like old bones in the frigid wind. In the distance, I heard the howl of my hound as he chased a rabbit.
His bark drew closer. I got my gun ready. We’d have rabbit stew that night.
I felt a need to relieve myself. The dog’s howl faded away. His quarry turned in a new direction. I had time to take care of my needs.
I dropped my pants. They nestled in the snow around my ankles, as I reached out with both hands, and grabbed a branch for support. I leaned back. The branch held me up as I relieved myself. My release steamed in the melting snow. In the distance, I watched cars pass on the highway. It occurred to me that if I could see them, they could see me—especially when wearing hunter orange. There was nothing I could do but wave.
The dog’s bark grew louder. I needed to get ready. He was leading the rabbit my way. I let go of the branch with my right, while supporting myself with the left. I searched my pockets for tissue. Surely I brought some.
My left hand held the branch. My right completed the search of that side. It crossed my body to investigate the left pockets. There was a snap. The branch broke, and my butt landed in my own steaming mess.
I sat in my own fudge dessert, cursed as the snow froze to my bottom, and watched the rabbit hop pass with my hound on the chase.
Yeah, I’m just a regular guy.
