Marks Cold Foot

Another goose hunting season is upon us! It's not a particularly demanding sport. Over the years I've mastered the art of lazy goose hunting. Most hunters scout, set up decoy spreads, wake up at 3:00am and other such nonsense. I simply sit behind a tree and wait for geese to fly over with no particular concern of success. It wasn't always that way. My first few years of hunting geese were a study in lumpishness. I remember an instance of hunting futility many years ago when one of my hunting buddies and I had quite a laugh at another buddy's expense.
First, there is Jerry. He is a rather diminuative guy at barely Five foot tall. His main pleasure in life is making fun of people. What he lacks in size he can easily make up in insults. I'm 5'8" and back then I weighed a good 250 pounds. Then, there is Mark. He is 7'1" or as he likes to say, "Six foot-Thriteen inches" He's the nicest guy you will ever meet, but not maybe the most motivated person around. So basically, our group was composed of a grizzly bear, the Jolly Green Giant and Sprout.
If success is measured by hours spent hunting, then we were the most successful group in history. If success is measured by how many geese are taken per season, then not so much. First, Jerry refused to remove his blaze orange stocking cap for two seasons. He was convinced that all non-human animals are colorblind and would not notice his big orange head. Mark's size didn't exactly make him ergonomic when it came to hiding in blinds we made out of tumbleweeds. Usually, Marks white, size 18 sneaker was sticking out of the blind and tipping off the flock above to our presence. Eventually, Jerry misplaced his orange hat and our success began to improve. I want to go on record as saying there is no hard evidence connecting me with the disappearance of that hat. Then, when Mark found a pair of brown boots that fit him, our success increased even more. But, that didn't happen until after the infamous "cold-foot" incident.

It was a particularly cold day. We spent most of the morning driving around. We would see a flock of geese come off the lake and try to anticipate their flight path. Jerry would let us out of the car to jump in the ditch and wait for the geese to fly over. It wasn't working. Every five minutes a new flock would rise off the lake. Every five minutes we would jump in the car and go to another ditch to watch the geese fly somewhere other than where we were. It's just the way we did it back then. Brilliant!
Jerry had a 1979 Monte Carlo. It was a two-door car and no one wanted to sit in back. It was too difficult to get in and out of quickly.
Using standard "shotgun" rules, I always got the front seat. Mark, all seven foot of him, would have to navigate the lone passenger side door and folding front seat in order to get in back. His feet were understandably cold that day. Mark had his basketball shoes again. They looked warm to me. Maybe it was just the size that fooled me.
Mark's incessant complaining about his frozen feet was becoming unbearable. It was nearly impossible to enjoy my hot chocolate and music on the radio with Mark back there belly-aching about his stupid feet, and how Jerry should turn up the heater, and how he should get to sit in front, and how we should share the hot chocolate with him and what not. Without warning there was a short period of silence. Just as I was beginning to enjoy it, I heard what I thought was Mark reacting to an attack by an animal that had stowed away in the car without us knowing. My first thought was, "Is Mark dying?" This wouldn't be good if he was. Something like that could ruin the whole hunting trip.
"STOP THE CAR!, STOP THE CAR! I CAN'T FEEL MY FOOT!!!", Mark yelled. Jerry stopped the car. Mark jumped out and was clumsily hopping around on one leg as if that would get warm blood back into his now numb foot.
When Jerry and I finally composed ourselves enough to quit laughing, we noticed Mark was not laughing at all.

This is the type of thing that Jerry loves. In the future he will always have a comeback for anything that Mark says. He has used the "Stop the car" quote many times in many situations to embarrass Mark. It was funny at the time it happened and I can't fully explain why. Decades later, I still wonder what "STOPPING THE CAR" has to do with not feeling your foot. I guess it will just remain one of those mysteries that I can't understand. In fact as I grow older, I am often reminded the more you understand the world around you, the less pleasant it can appear. Unless, you have something to look forward to. In my case, another goose hunting season with Jerry and Mark.