I shot myself once with an arrow while
hunting. I thought I was a deer.
It’s easy to get confused. That
morning when my wife kissed me
goodbye, she said, ‘Have fun, Dear! ‘
Not knowing anything at the time
about homophones, you can see
how I couldn’t be blamed for the
mix-up. And now it’s hard to talk
with my tongue in my cheek like this
so let me tell you how it happened.
I was on a Honda Trail 90
motorcycle belonging to my
father-in-law. My bow was strung
around my shoulder and across
my back, with the arrows
in a bow-quiver on the bow.
On a steep, brush-covered hill,
the Honda stalled and somehow one
of the arrows on the quiver got knocked
off the bow by the brush.
Next thing I knew, the nock end
of the arrow was in the dirt
and the stainless steel broadhead
was imbedded in my left leg
just above the knee.
The weight of the bike was pushing
the arrow farther into my leg.
The angle of the hill made it
almost impossible to get
off the bike without having it
fall over and send us both
sliding to the bottom.
After several attempts,
I finally managed to get off
the motorcycle but it took
a while longer to remove
the arrow.
I had no one to help me,
as I had violated the basic rule
of never hunting alone.
My area was secluded;
I had seen no other hunters
for several days.
I got the bike into the truck,
packed up my tent and other gear
and drove off the mountain
to the nearest hospital.
When I walked up to the counter
the lady could only see me
from the waist up.
‘May I help you? ‘ she asked.
‘Yes, ‘ I said, ‘I think I may
be bleeding to death.’
She came around to where
she could see my leg
all covered in blood
and rushed to get a doctor.
They ruined a perfectly good pair
of Wrangler Boot-Cut jeans
by cutting the left leg
from boot to thigh
instead of just removing them.
They only had one little arrow hole
above the knee; they were brand new.
I wanted to donate
the pint of blood
that was in my boot
but they said
they really couldn’t use it.
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