He sat at the bar nursing a beer. He wore camo pants and a bright orange sweater jacket.

“Why so glum?” the bartend attempted. “Didn’t kill anything?”

“Oh he killed sumthin’,” supplied his huntin’ buddy.

“Oh?” pressed the bartend.

Huntin’ buddy ignored the look of warning from his glum chum and began, “We was sitting at the edge of a clearing waitin’ for deer. Joey here spotted sumthin’ big and brown behind the brush. He sez, ‘Should I shoot?’ and I sez, ‘Shore! Go fer it!’ So he aims and BLAM , gets it in one shot!”

“Awesome!” bartend interjects.

Spurned on by his captivated audience and completely missing the daggers being aimed in his direction from glum chum’s eyes, he continues. “Joey runs over to claim his prize kill and I follow him. He has to climb over some barb’ wire hidden in the brush and started cursin’!” He giggled a little. “I yelled, ‘What?’ and climbed over the wire to look.”

He paused to drink from his glass and provide some drama.

“What was it?” bartend leaned on a elbow.

“A cow!”