It looked like part of a big hairy red
ass sticking up out of the bushes. It was jiggling in a manner that
suggested the fabled Mogollon Monster. Was Big Red himself bent over
hiding in the thicket and giggling like a little child playing hide
and seek? Was I just high?
Even as I was walking closer I thought about how stupid I was. I closed to within about fifteen feet of the great beast. There was a giant rusty furred ass cheek at about eye level. Its shaking stopped and mine started. I froze in place. Then it started jiggling again. I took another hit of the joint.
It was 2005, and the forest was showing signs of recovering from the drought. There was to be no summer fire ban that year in Apache-Sitgreaves. The vegetation was lush and blocked my view of the creature. Was it a bear?
I inched closer until there was only about ten feet separating me from the mysterious red ass. The rustling of grasses at my feet seemed to echo through the hills in spite of the care I was taking to creep silently through the trees. Again, the jiggling stopped. I dropped to a squatting position and took a few more tokes of the doob.
At five feet I stopped again and put the joint in a 410 shell casing I was carrying in my pocket. I thought: “Damn, I could jump on it's back! What a story that would make!" Then I realized dead men tell no tales. I changed my thought to: "I could lunge and smack this thing on the ass”. I seriously considered it. I figured it would make a better story than just standing there with a smoldering pocket and wondering whose ass I was looking at.
In the end, I eventually sneezed or coughed or did some other dumbass thing I was trying not to do. The massive creature rose to its full height and turned to appraise me. I froze, gaping. That’s the closest I ever got to an elk.
Even as I was walking closer I thought about how stupid I was. I closed to within about fifteen feet of the great beast. There was a giant rusty furred ass cheek at about eye level. Its shaking stopped and mine started. I froze in place. Then it started jiggling again. I took another hit of the joint.
It was 2005, and the forest was showing signs of recovering from the drought. There was to be no summer fire ban that year in Apache-Sitgreaves. The vegetation was lush and blocked my view of the creature. Was it a bear?
I inched closer until there was only about ten feet separating me from the mysterious red ass. The rustling of grasses at my feet seemed to echo through the hills in spite of the care I was taking to creep silently through the trees. Again, the jiggling stopped. I dropped to a squatting position and took a few more tokes of the doob.
At five feet I stopped again and put the joint in a 410 shell casing I was carrying in my pocket. I thought: “Damn, I could jump on it's back! What a story that would make!" Then I realized dead men tell no tales. I changed my thought to: "I could lunge and smack this thing on the ass”. I seriously considered it. I figured it would make a better story than just standing there with a smoldering pocket and wondering whose ass I was looking at.
In the end, I eventually sneezed or coughed or did some other dumbass thing I was trying not to do. The massive creature rose to its full height and turned to appraise me. I froze, gaping. That’s the closest I ever got to an elk.
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