A hunting story.

As a teenager I went hunting on our place with some relatives who were visiting. About half a mile from home I stepped over a fallen tree and my foot when right into a hornet's nest built in the ground. They went up my britches leg by the dozens! I dropped the gun and ran for the house, pulling off all my clothes in the process. By the time I got to the house, where all the women were, I was down to my shorts. Mama counted 47 stings all over my body. She put baking soda paste on them and gave me two Bayer aspirin for pain. I hurt so bad I thought I would die for two days, swelled up unbelievably, missed three days of school. I never hunted again.

Ironically, the next year, a teenager from another part of the county was stung on the finger by a wasp and it killed him. I have been petrified of getting bee stung ever since.

One other bee incident helped my fear along. I was riding our workhorse back to the barn (no saddle, he had harness on) and a bumble bee stung the horse. He bolted, throwing me off backwards, down a bank, and landing in the river (I can't swim).

Nothing like the good ole days, huh?

(Don Conner)