Burvil, my trusty, well at least talky, correspondent who tips me off to noteworthy events in the Tri-Holler region, which I in turn report here in the Herald, but always mindful it is for family reading which is why most reports never make it, was breathless from the climb even with ATV four-wheeler transport.
"Them there egits in Charleston don't know their letters," he stammered. (I forego reminding him that it was politically incorrect to use such a derogatory term for mental challenge as he was referring to politicians, which I feel makes it quite appropriate for both Charleston and Washington and highly politically correct.)
Burvil went on to explain that he had learned his letters "good" in the Tri-Holler Consolidated High and Technical School and that the Department of Natural Resources (DNR) didn't know its A from Z, although he used a more descriptive phrase which sounded like "moles in the ground"; the connection had faded a little.
As a result Burvil couldn't determine what letter stamp he needed for his hunting license to be legal as he had choices of A-L, AB-L, X, XJ, XS, and A+CS+BG. As explanation, he found he needed one of the above + up to two RBs for additional deer in specified counties, and then below all this was something called DT.
He said Hansel Hanshaw had had DTs and had had his guns taken from him after he shot a couple of Fensil Pratlow's cows, so he couldn't understand for sure this provision. He had only wanted to shoot a bow and "arry" anyway, and he didn't want to take up drinking to do it, although he figured that some hunters may have after trying to figure out the regulations.
I explained to him that I was a non-hunter, although I do belong to three organized hunting clubs, if one can call any hunting club organized after attending a few meetings, and one special club on the old home place where my guests cater to me with preparing good food and allowing me to sleep late in the mornings, my favorite form of hunting.
Burvil wondered if he just went to the post office and bought a book of Forever stamps if that might solve the problem. I told him that I was sure the post office would appreciate the support, but doubted that the DNR would feel the same.
He explained that Crazy Ted from the Big Puf Mountain Hunting and Drinking Club (Motto: We're always hunting a drink!) had never learned any letters at all and yet he always got his limit as he understood it.
I reminded him, from my club visits ( I had been an invited speaker on occasion, as writing for the Herald does bring prominence--some might say notoriety--until I chose to speak on prying some cold dead hands off their guns) that Crazy Ted always hunts with automatic weapons and that I didn't think that so far the DNR had approved a stamp for that purpose. He quipped that they had probably run out of letters. (Burvil is witty at times; at others only half that.)
I told him to be safe and legal he should talk to Voy Dire, the noted legal source in Big Puf. Burvil replied that he would but that Voy was serving time in "the pen" after stealing a "few thousand" from a couple of widows resulting from a coal mine disaster, especially for their husbands. I suggested that this infraction didn't destroy Voy's excellent legal mind, only his freedom and license, and that his fee should be less under the circumstances.
I feared I hadn't helped much, but Burvil seemed calmer after had talked to someone who had attended college and knew how to put letters into writing. however with sometime no better results than the DNR. (To those who criticize my writing I remind there are 26 letters in the alphabet; take them and put them together yourself!)
Burvil said he thought he would give up hunting this year and maybe go to summer school and learn DNR letters for the next season. I told him I thought that was a good idea as it probably wasn't too safe being in the woods near Crazy Ted. Use of Forever stamps near him may be more of a ticket than a stamp.