For the most part I and my circle of friends did not know much about hunting.  I think we all have been hunting before with an experienced hunter friend so we all had a little experience, but you would never know it one Thanksgiving morning near White, Georgia, which was walking distance to Cartersville, Georgia, which we would soon find out.  We had a flat with no spare and ran out of gas with no money.  I’ll skip over those details.

Driving in the dark many times we have come upon a rabbit who froze in the headlights but managed to wake up before getting ran over.  We had the bright idea of two of us riding on the front fenders with their rifles loaded and ready to shoot.  We road all over several cut streets, soon to be subdivisions, taking turns on  the fenders with no luck.  By the way, the land in the subdivisions was selling for $200 an acre.  Highway Robbery we thought.

On the way back home, on the highway taking us the 41, which goes to Marietta, we had a flat.  We had no spare.  We didn’t know what to do.  We sat  in the car in the dark discussing possible things to do when the morning day light slowly settled in.  As it got barely visible, we saw a house up on a hill was directly across the road.  Then it got a little lighter and we saw on the right side of the house was a garden, but in the Thanksgiving season, there was not much but the shape.  And behind the garden and house was an outhouse.

Larry loved to use outhouses.  He was an outhouse connoisseur.  Larry said he going up there and take shit in that outhouse.  We tried to talk him out of it but he would not listen.  He got out of the driver’s seat and walked beside the house, up the hill and inside the outhouse and shut the door..

We continued our discussion when I saw a lady from the house, with a housecoat, and carrying a newspaper walking towards the outhouse.  We in the car were rolling with laughter keeping an eye on the outhouse.

The lady opened the door and dropped her newspapers.  Larry bounded out trying to pull up his pants with one hand and the other hand scratching his forehead.  I have seen this before with Larry, when embarrassed he scratched his forehead.  Now, he was running, pulling up his pants and scratching his forehead.

Larry jumped into the drivers seat and sped away, with the flat flapping.

We got about a mile away and decided we better pull over, the tire was gone.

It was decided that I would hitchhike back to Marietta and get Larry’s 57 Ford and money off his dresser.  His parents were gone.

I made a quick head stop by my parents’ house.  My mother’s bother Tom Petty and his wife Mary Jo were there for Thanksgiving.  It was the last time I saw my uncle Tom alive.

On the 41 Hwy in Cartersville the Ford gave out of gas.  So I got out and starting walking backwards hitchhiking.

On the southbound I saw my friends, hitchhiking southbound. 

We were united.  I forgot how we got a tire, rim, whatever   fixed. 

At least we did not have to skin any rabbits.