What's in a name?

I'm from a tiny little country town called Doniphan, Mo. When the farmer's and hunter's gather together to swap gossip around a morning pint of Jim Beam and coffee, ocassionally you'll hear tales of Ol' Poacher Dave makin' trouble for the local authorities. And this was just such a day.

Two men could be overheard discussing the past weeks adventures. "I heard Poacher Dave was at it again Friday."

"Oh yeah? What'd he do this time?"

"Well, he was driving down by Old Man Turner's farm, when he saw a buck grazin' in the field. So, he slowed down and shot the bastard. While he was loadin' up the deer in his truck, Turner was turnin' Dave's license plate numbers in to the Game Warden, who just happened to be nearby. He drove over there and caught up with Ol' Dave. He chased him all around the county 'til he finally got away."

"Well, what happened next?"

"I guess the Game Warden found out where Dave was stayin' and he went down to the house to talk to him. The Warden asked Dave about poachin' the deer and why he didn't stop. Dave said, 'It just didn't seem like the thing to do with all the marijuana I had on me at the time.' The Officer said he was gonna have to confiscate the rest of the meat. Dave said, 'That was Friday. This is Monday. We ate it all gone.' The Game Warden said, 'Ya know I gotta write you up a ticket for this, right?' Dave said, 'Well, I reckon you'll just keep doin' your job and I'll keep doin' mine!"

And dependeing on who you talk to around the county, some folks may even call him Crazy Dave. Ya see, he always seems to get himself in the most peculiar predicaments.

One day Crazy Dave was visiting his next door neighbor. They had been sitting outside on a summer's midmorning, drinking vodka and Seven-Up. They chatted for a while and finally Dave said he had to go take care of some laundry. He said he was going to the store to get some bleach for his whites and headed toward the house.

Dave got home and realized he didn't have the money to get the bleach and started to wash the rest of his laundry. Afterward, he noticed the yard needed trimmed, so he went outside and started to mow the grass.

It got hot out there awfully quick. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his neighbor pops up. He handed Dave a coffee cup with clear liquid in it. Dave could hear him talking but couldn't make out the words over the engine of the lawn mower. He was so thirsty that he gulped down the liquid in a hurry, waiting for that cool refreshment to wet his throat.

The neighbor started to yell and panic came over his face. Just then, Dave realized that wasn't a cup of cold water or Seven-Up, but a cup full of pure bleach. He gasped for air and ran to the house.

Now, rationality would tell anyone at this point to drink lots of water and call Poison Control.....but that's not what happened.

Dave popped open a can of Busch beer and sucked it down. Then he ate a cople of Tums antacids and went back to finish mowing the yard. Now it is just another one of his stories to tell.

When he worked at the sawmill, he would sometimes accidentally cut off tips of his fingers. But because he hated doctors and hospitals so badly, he would just stick them in hot tar to seal the wounds and wrap them in Duct tape.

Once he inhaled a large quantity of gasoline while trying to siphon it from a truck. Some strangers found him wandering blindly down a highway in sever disorientation. They tried to talke him to the hospital but he adamantly refused. So they took him to their house and nursed him back to health with Goldenseal tea and lots of rest.

Remarkably, Dave survives these ordeals everytime. But I will always worry about my Dad anyway.