A few months ago I was talking to one of the guys that I buy coyote calls from and bemoaning the fact the my hunting is limited due to the fact that it's all private property around here. I gotta travel at least an hour and a half to shoot public land.
He gave me some advice that worked for him. Get some business cards made up, make up some nice letters and mail them out to all the local ranchers offering my services as a predator control hunter. Hey, you send out 250 cards and get 2 places to shoot, it's worth it.
I went whole hog. I ordered tailgate magnets too that I rock during the weekend or when I'm driving out in the country.
Yes, I blurred out the number. Don't need Mikey to start calling me in the middle of the night.
Okay. I have gotten a couple of nibbles from ranchers, saying they want me to call them come lambing and calving season.
So yesterday I get a call from an unfamiliar number. I answer it.
'Is this Lanes' Predator Control?"
"Yes, it is, ma'am. Can I help you?"
"You're a murderer, how can you live with yourself slaughtering those magnificent animals?"
Fucking wonderful. A PETA-phile.......
"Lady, there isn't a thing I can say that will make you understand the services I offer. However, if you'll give me your email address I will gladly send you some photos of 16 lambs killed by a single coyote in one night."
"You're a killer. I'm giving your number to the Humane Society and PETA."
I should've hung up but I had already had a few.
"Don't do that. You fucked up and called from an unblocked number. If I get one call from your buddies, I'm calling you back with a recording of me killing one one of those magnificent animals. Do you really want to piss off somebody that is perfectly happy when he's killing shit in the middle of the night?"
End of conversation. I thought.
Okay. Last night my buddy Phil called and we did our usual weekend thing - talking gun shit on the phone and drinking beer together long distance. I was fucking tanked when we got done.
I'm getting ready to crash and my phone rings again. I figured it was Phil or his sweetie calling back so I answered without looking at the Caller ID.
It was PETA-phile. And she was drunk too.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot (burp) let this go. You are dithpicable and I hope you die painlessly."
I wasn't as drunk as she was. I'm pretty sure she meant painfully.
"GODAMMIT, I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!!
I went over to my Call Wall and got Dogbreaths' squeaker call. It makes an outrageous ki-yi sound if you work it right - you know the ike-ike-ike-ike sound a dog makes when you back over its' leg with your pickup?
"I TOLD YOU I WAS GONNA HURT SOMETHING IF YOU CALLED BACK. NOW I'M GONNA KILL MY DOG."
CharlieGodammit came wandering in from the bedroom wondering what the fuck was going on. I slammed my open hand on the table and started yelping that call. Charlie, who's used to me practicing my calls inside the house, yawned and farted and went back to bed.
I was ky-yi-ing away and could hear PETA-phile going fucking berserk.
"NO!!!!!! DON'T HURT THE DOG.... PLEASE!!!! I'M SORRY!!!"
"You fucking made me do that. Goddamn you! I just killed my puppy..... Oh my God, what I have I done? Oh Sweetpea, I'm SO sorry! God, please forgive me....."
Haven't heard a word from her since.
And before any of you motherfuckers start talking shit that I did damage to our hunting heritage, kiss my ass. Her mind was already made up. There wasn't a thing I could do or say or do to change her mind.