Saturday morning my dogs needed some exercise and a man was having hog trouble in his maize patch. Let’s go hunting. While still dark, dogs Zack, Purdy, Slobber, and I were waiting at the Charleston Square for Johnny Hurley that was supposed to go with me and bring a catch dog. It was his idea to meet at 6:00 but he didn’t show up. I had wanted to meet at 7:00 to get an extra hour of sleep. At 6:10, I drove toward North Sulphur and the maize patch. Before sun up I put the tracking collars on the three dogs and away they went. As usual, Jack Russell Terrier Zack soon came back and rode with me on the four wheeler. The old natural river runs along the south and east sides of a huge field and the manmade channel along the north. A perfect place for hogs with plenty of shade, water, and food. Every few minutes we would stop the Honda and listen for the other dogs. Soapberry, rough leaf dogwood, and walnut trees leaned out toward the maize and tried to get my hat. Spider webs stretched between maize and trees made me glad I wore my hat as a shield. Johnny called me at 7:00 saying he had hit the snooze button a few too many times. Moving east along the old river I soon turned north toward the channel. At the northeast corner of the field I came to the cane thicket where months ago a 320 pound boar killed Casey’s Spook before we could intervene. As I sat listening for the dogs fourteen buzzards in a tall dead tree flapped away one or two at a time to go smell around for breakfast. They should have just stayed where they were.

A half mile in the west Purdy and Slobber started barking and I could hear the “rattle” a large group of hogs make when dogs get close. (A group of hogs is called a sounder but I had rather just say a bunch or group.) I cranked the Honda and drove west, only to see several hogs coming toward me. The big group had split up. Years ago I bought my Uncle Paul’s old 30-30 Marlin rifle and I knew it had six shells in it. I was on the edge of a harvested wheat field and the hogs would pass from right to left at a distance of thirty yards while making for some nearby maize. Sure would have been a good place for a catch dog, Johnny. I threw a shell into the chamber and started shooting. One miss. Five hits. Four hogs down. I shot twice at the biggest one since he kept going after the first shot. I thought I had missed it but later found two bullet holes. The land owner will be happy. Johnny, maybe we better set meeting time at 7:00 next hunt so you can go.

Not far from where I hunted Saturday is the Bozeman Place. Larry Trapp at one time baled the Bozeman meadow which was notorious for being rough to drive across because of hog rooting over the years. Recently he talked to Jeffrey Preas who had just been cutting/baling hay down there. Larry asked Jeffrey if it was still rough to drive across. Jeffrey just dropped his head and shook it, saying, “It’s so rough the birds won’t even fly across it. When they get to the edge they just turn and go around it.”
Last week I told a little about Lane Frost and would like to give a little more information about him. Lane was born October 12, 1963 in LaJunta, Colorado. (About the time I was looking forward to high school graduation.) He came from a rodeo family as his dad rode bareback and saddle broncs. Lane’s riding career began when he was five as he rode dairy calves. At nine, he got on his first bull and his family was happy when world champion Don Gay persuaded him to stay off bulls until his bones got stronger. At fifteen he returned to bull riding.

In junior high in Utah he excelled in wrestling and at seventy five pounds won forty five matches while losing only four. In 1978, the family moved to Oklahoma to escape the hard Utah winters and Lane attended Atoka High School. Legendary bull rider Freckles Brown was a family friend and gave Lane a lot of coaching. In 1981 Lane was National High School bull riding champ. Five years out of high school he was world champ at age twenty four. To give an example of Lane’s rare talent, consider this. In 309 attempts no one had ever ridden the great bull, Red Rock. In 1988, Lane rode him four out of seven times.

On the fateful day of July 30, 1989 at Cheyenne Frontier Days, Lane rode Taking Care of Business and scored 91. After Lane jumped off, the bull spun around and hit him in the side, breaking several ribs and knocking him down. Lane stood up and hollered for Tuf Hedeman for help. Then he fell over, causing the sharp ended broken rib bones to puncture lungs and heart. One of Lane’s traveling partners was Cody Lambert who, because of Lane’s accident, invented the protective vest that bull riders wear today. Garth Brooks’ famous song, The Dance, is a tribute to Lane Frost.

As most of you dove hunters know, game wardens sometimes carry a bird dog with them as they check dove hunters to make sure they don’t have any quail in their bag. Well, you may not know that since we don’t have quail anymore but this story comes from back in the day when there were quail here. A game warden stopped to check a dove hunter and had his pointer with him. The dog immediately pointed as he got out of the pickup. The game warden asked where the illegal quail were hidden. The hunter insisted he had no quail. The warden explained that was a very expensive dog and was bred higher than a peckerwood hole. The dog just never made mistakes. After searching for an hour the game warden gave up and before leaving checked the man’s hunting license. There on the license was printed the hunter’s name, Bob White.
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