Don't really have a deer stalking story.. but we were shooting possums one night from our trail bikes.
Saw a possum sitting on a fence post, so I shot it, picked it up and chucked it in my mates back-pack so we could skin it later.
Rode off, spot light on the trees looking for more victims, then my mate fell off his bike on a straight bit of road. I laughed.
Turns out possum was, well, playing possum. Lil bast*rd waited till we were mobile, then came to life, shredding my mates back, kidneys, liver etc with his claws through the thin wall of the back-pack.
I told my pal to hold still so I could put a couple of shots into the back-pack, but as he was still wearing it, he didnt see the funny side.
F*cked my mates bike, he still shows chicks the scars, and I had to throw the back pack away.
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On another occassion, I was looking for possums again. On my XT400, with a spanking new Ruger 10/22 on my back - an entire months pay. Right in the middle of the road was a possum.
I couldn't resist - I accelerated towards the possum, in my mind a good kick would send the possum skyward, in a curving arc towards the moon, like a good penalty goal.
The possum froze in my headlight, and my kick was perfect.
But the possum was solid. Really solid, like kicking a post.
I broke my toes, even though I had steel caped boots on. I felt like my leg had been wrapped behind my neck. As much as I admire girls who can do that, I found it most uncomfortable, and fell off my bike, landing heavily on, and terminally ending the career of my new rifle.
It cost me a dent in the tank, bent handle bars, a broken brake lever, and a new headlight.
The possum ran away.
Support 1080, it washes away in your drinking water.
David must play fair with the other kids, even the idiots.
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