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Tallywhacker Bush Bats and the Doo Doo Eating Dog
by Tony Isaacs
One weekend about 25 or so years ago, (my God, has it been that long?) my cousin
Jeff and I loaded up his son Jason, aged ten, and my son Sean aged eight, along
with Jeff's black Rotweiler named Sam and off we went to four-wheel it
through the marshy bottoms to camp out on Jeff's 43 acres of land that lies on
both sides of the South Sulphur River. A few years later we built a cabin, but in those days our campsite consisted
pretty much of tents, tarps and a wooden electrical cable spool that we used as
"Why are they called Tallywhacker Bush Bats?" asked Jason. Doing a wonderful job
of keeping a straight face, Jeff answered, "because they hide in the bushes
where you can't see them, and when you go to use the bathroom, they pounce on
your tallywhacker and bite down on it with razor sharp fangs and then suck all
the blood out of you." Now Jason and Sean both snickered and laughed when they
heard this preposterous description, but when Jeff and I kept our faces more or
less straight, they began to have second thoughts. "There's no such thing as a
tallywhacker bush bat . . . . is there?" "Are you SURE?" "Have you ever seen
"No, Dad, it wasn't me, I promise"
"Well I didn't do it, and it smells like pure sh__!"
"Me either, Dad, it must be Sam"
And then, a few seconds later, "Man, it's getting worse!"
At that point, the flashlight came on in their tent, and Jeff commenced to cussing, "Sam you stupid blankety-blank dog, you’ve got crap all over you!"
"Look, Dad it's all on his jaws - he's been eating somebody's crap and it looks just like that chili you made".
"Yeah, well it smells like sh__, and now it's all over our damn sleeping bags! Who in the hell was the idiot that took a dump close to camp"?
At this point my son Sean started snickering, and pointing to himself, and I, thinking about how close he had to have been to the campfire because of our stories of the Tally Whacker Bush Bats, started laughing.
Then Sean started laughing, and
soon Sean and I were both roaring with laughter, which didn’t help Jeff or
Jason’s moods while they got up in the cold night air and tried to clean off
their sleeping bags as best they could, all the time cussing and bitching in the
direction of our tent.
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