Bobby "Buck" Borders

(Every Storm Runs out of Rain -- So Says Gary Allan, Rich Country Star; Yeah, Mr. Allan, but Can I Make It Out before I Drown? Tell Me That!)

Alabama Highway 41

Dallas County, Alabama, in the Woods Somewhere (GPS is sketchy)

About 15 miles from Providence Flats, Alabama

4:27 a.m., Temperature: 19 Degrees (Colder than a Witch’s Teat, as My Old Man Would’ve Said, May the Devil Haunt His Soul in Eternity)

Man, I’ve been hunting for a lot of years, almost since I was old enough to grab a rifle, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t get colder every one of my twenty-three years! Definitely good for the coffee in this thermos, with a little something extra thrown in, God bless my teetotaling mama’s heart.

She’d swear I was going to have a front seat in hell for the floor show, with the devil himself jamming that fire and brimstone right down my throat with a poker, all on a continuous loop! Rest her soul, poor, dear old Mama.

Of course, I did have my bout with the stuff, not that I’m proud of that, but, I’ll say that Shelly, my wife, then my girlfriend, pretty much kicked all that crap out of me. Said we wasn’t doing nothing that only married folks was supposed to do if I didn’t take stock of my life.

At that point, I would’ve checked myself into the fanciest rehab in Beverly Hills to show her I meant business. That and stop puking myself to death. She said her capacity for cleaning up vomit was about to hit a stopping point. So, not having a Beverly Hills bank account or any fancy insurance that would cover any kind of rehab, I just quit cold turkey.

Hey, what’s that? Come here, come here, you beautiful buck bastard! I just know you are gonna look good in my freezer! A year’s worth, probably, judging from the sound! Come on, come on!

Ah, shoot! Just a dog, probably trying to scrounge for the corn I laid out FOR THE DEER, you stupid mutt! Let me get out of this deer stand. Ain’t no deer coming here with this mange factory running around!