A Very Uncomfortable Bobcat Hunt

It's only hilarious because it's not you!

Excerpt from And Monkeys Threw Crap At Me: Adventures In Hunting, Fishing, and Writing By Gayne C. Young

A Very Uncomfortable Bobcat Hunt

“You ever have your prostate checked?”

The out of the blue question hit me like a sucker punch to the crotch. All the blood drained from my face and I felt a knot growing in my throat. Not because I had only met the questioner an hour earlier but because I was alone with him.

In a dark truck.

In the middle of nowhere.

I was actually in South Texas following a pack of dogs down a moonlit caliche sendero in the depth of a February cold spell. To my left was the owner of the dogs and supposedly one of the best bobcat men in the state. His awkward question about my most private of glands was only the first of many that would pepper the blue frozen night of my discomfort.

“Had the cancer on mine last year,” the old man explained. “It’s been in remission for six months now.”

I nodded and offered my congratulations. The old man brought the truck to a stop and lit a cigarette.

“Surprised I ain’t got the lung cancer as many of these as I smoke.”

I nodded again and kept my eyes forward on the dogs, watching them crisscross the sendero in the headlights in search of a scent.

“We’ll let ‘em get ahead of us a bit,” the old man explained, gesturing at the dogs with the lit end of the cig. He brought the smoke back to his mouth and turned in his seat to face me. “It’s the gland that makes that milky white fluid that’s mixed in with y’er see-man.”

This was getting weird.

“Call it prostatic fluid I think. Not sure exactly. Hell, most my life I was more interested in expelling it than thinking about where it came from. What it was called.”

The old man laughed and gave me a slight punch on the shoulder. I cracked a nervous smile and chuckled to hide my discomfort.

“Course as the years go by less and less of that fluid shoots on out. Still feels good mind ya’.”

“Uh, … darn right.” I concurred. God. Did I really say that?

“Yeah, I never gave all the inside parts a lot of thought ‘till the doc gave me my first rectal exam. You ever had one?”

“Uh,…no,” I offered before trying to change the subject.   “You hear that? Might be one of the dogs.”

“Nah, you’ll know it when they’s on the trail,” the old man explained. Still, he put the truck in gear and idled forward after them. “Ain’t gonna lie. The exam ain’t no fun. Y’er in their freezing y’er cojones off in a paper gown that’s open in the back. Then the doctor comes on in n’ puts on a pair of gloves n’ starts greasing his fingers up with a big tube a’ goo.”

I slowly eased against the passenger door worried he was thinking of showing me how the exam worked rather than telling me. I was no longer interested in watching the dogs or learning how they were trained. Thoughts of bobcats completely vanished. Even the cold no longer bothered me. All that mattered was getting out of that truck and away from the incredibly creepy anatomy lesson I was receiving from a guy while idling through a deserted wilderness void of anyone to hear my screams.

“Then the doc tells you to relax while he works his finger up your keester. I was so tight down there and his finger so dad’gum thick he had to move it back n’ forth n’ back n’ forth just to get it in there.”

“Guess there just aren’t any cats out tonight. They would have found one by now if they were around.”

“Then he works his digit on up there till you can feel him poking on the backside of y’er manhood. N’ while he’s pushing down on things he says that he knows it’s sensitive but to just relax. I don’t know ‘bout you but I find it pretty hard to relax with a guy’s finger up my poop chute.”

The old man laughed and laughed and reached over to punch me on the shoulder once more. He snuffed out his cigarette and lit another. He took in a deep breath of smoke and laughed further as he continued what I hoped wasn’t going to be my most uncomfortable bedtime story ever.

“He pulls outta’ ya’ n’ hands you a tissue over y’er shoulder n’ says “Here. Ya’ got a little goo on ya’ down there you might wanna wipe off.” And I’s thinking that I sure as hell do. Wish I could just wipe the memory of you ever having y’er finger up my corn hole completely outta’ my head.”

“Look! A rabbit just ran across the road. The dogs just ignored it.”

“Yeah, they’re good like that. So I wipe the goo off my bottom n’ get dressed. I tell ya’, I never dreamed I’d be missing that finger but them days I was sitting there getting my chemo I just kept thinking that maybe if I’d a’ had the doc put his paw up my butt a few more times he might’a caught the cancer earlier. Would’a saved me a whole lotta’ grief. So, listen,” The old man stopped the truck and turned to face me. “Y’er young and you got your health so don’t fear the finger. Get yourself checked regular. Yeah, it might be a little uncomfortable but hell, the guy’s only up there for a minute or two.”

I sat pressed against the door, shivering in the frigid air and discomfort of the conversation when the dogs offered a reprieve. They’d crossed the path of a large cat and were tearing into the brush after her. The old man exited the truck and yelled for me to follow with perhaps the worst chosen instructions possible.

“Come on! Let’s go! It’ll be tight in there so just stay on my butt!”

And Monkeys Threw Crap At Me: Adventures In Hunting, Fishing, and Writing 

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