I decided not to spring for an out-of-state Nebraska license this year. I live in Iowa but a good Nebraskan friend of mine lives about 45 minutes away. His family owns about 148 acres of land on the Winnebago Indian reservation and I tromp around with him (empty-handed) through the woods a couple of times per month. Usually we are hunting someone else's property (with permission) and I've never seen his family's indian land before. I got a call Saturday night to MAKE SURE I came out to Nebraska after work to spend the evening at his place so we could hit the woods early Saturday morning. To make a long story short, I realized his true intentions. He wanted me to be there so I could help him carry that big sucker a mile through heavily wooded terrain. He never said how deep into the "stuff" we'd be going until we got there. After practically giving up on the two-man carry method I showed him how to make a field-expedient stretcher out of two poles we cut and our hunting jackets. I've also found that rural Nebraskans are BIG talkers. From the likes of this guy's fish tales you'd think that he'd taken hundreds of whitetail. I should have known better after he handed me a rabbit last year and asked me to clean it for him. Same thing happened this year with his buck. "Hey man, can you show me how to gut this thing?" He actually bought a tag and a license and had no method of hanging this deer. I ended up hanging it for him with an old extension cord in his dad's corn crib. He's a great friend and I love him like a brother but at least be straight with me.
Last year my old boss invited me over for his wife's home-cooked lasagna and a few Hamm's beers (his favorite). As soon as the last of the lasagna was washed down some movers showed up with a truck-load of living room furniture. Apparently he needed assistance moving all of the old furniture into his basement and didn't think I'd lend a hand if he just asked me for the help. I must be an easy mark
Last year my old boss invited me over for his wife's home-cooked lasagna and a few Hamm's beers (his favorite). As soon as the last of the lasagna was washed down some movers showed up with a truck-load of living room furniture. Apparently he needed assistance moving all of the old furniture into his basement and didn't think I'd lend a hand if he just asked me for the help. I must be an easy mark