COMMENTS BY KIM: Missing Thunderpants
Spending time outdoors with hunting and fishing buddies results in a lot of memories. Sometimes for the most weird of reasons, but memories nonetheless.
I can’t tell you how many times, just a lot of times, when I’ve had a couple of hunting companions and their dogs in my vehicle for a pleasant day of pheasant hunting, only to be nearly overcome by an other-worldly, putrid smell that can only be alleviated somewhat by quickly rolling down all the windows or sliding the vehicle to a stop and bailing out.
Seems one of my hunting companions fed his precious pup something similar to Hormel chili, the result of which was the emission of gas unlike anything previously experienced on this earth. When our eyesight began to return and we could breathe again, which was in question for much too long during those all too frequent episodes, we could share a laugh as only guys do about such things.
It was a darn good thing that dog, which must have been at least part skunk, performed wonderfully in the field. How that canine could smell anything after releasing massive plums of toxic gas was quite remarkable to me. Ah, great memories!
While I am dutifully addressing this most difficult subject, I must say the dog’s odd ability to empty a vehicle as if a hand grenade had been tossed inside, was easily bested by a certain hunting companion we christened “Thunderpants.” Those who survived his company will attest that his accomplishments are truly legendary.
You see, what Thunderpants did to earn his nickname, with unusual regularity it seemed, was well beyond any comparison to the above mentioned dog. It was horrible, absolutely horrible. Writing about this brings back very painful memories, but memories nonetheless. There’s nothing like guys enjoying a hunt!
While Thunderpants’ frequent episodes is the stuff found only in the Guinness Book of World Records, none of this occurred with the silence and complete innocence of the previously mentioned bird finder. He took a strange pride in creating near-death experiences for his hunting partners while topping out the decibel meter.
We always made him walk downwind from the rest of us, no matter what the hunting situation was or where he preferred to be. I’m sure you understand why. Had that not been the case, I can say with reasonable certainty, that I may not have survived to write these lines.
Dont’ worry North Dakota. Thunderpants moved to another state a few years ago. Curiously, I miss hunting with him. When I am outside and smell a foul odor coming from something, somewhere, perhaps blowing in from an adjacent state – it brings back memories of the good times afield hunting with the legendary Thunderpants.