When I was living in the Adirondack mountains in upstate New York, I used to go deer hunting with a compound bow. The bad thing was a lot of goofballs from New York City would drive up in their Toyotas and Datsuns to join in the hunt. They brought guns... lots of guns.

One time I was out for six hours withoug a sighting. I decided to try again the next day, so I started back towards my truck. When I was almost to my vehicle, I heard World War Two restart. Guns were blasting left and right. I dropped to the ground until the shooting stopped.

I called out to let them know someone was within shooting distance. A bunch of voices shouted back that they had shot a deer. I was annoyed that they had one within 100 yards of my truck. I yelled out that I was going to the Country Corner Cafe, which was at the end of the dirt road.

I sat drinking coffee, waiting for my steak and eggs to arrive, when a bunch of guys burst in laughing and whooping it up. They sounded like the guys from my hunting spot, so I asked how big the deer was. They said it was a little doe, and it was on their car. I went out to see what they had bagged.

Tied neatly across the fender of their Datsun B210 was a properly dressed... Irish Setter. Not only an Irish Setter, but the hunting dog of someone I knew. It still had a collar on it's neck.

And I used to laugh when the dairy farmers would spray paint the letters C - O - W on their cows with fluorescent orange paint.