stuffed clock productions 2018
This story is based on incidents that actually happened. I tried writing it, (tongue in
cheek) in the same form you read articles in magazines as where some go overboard with
detail. Also helped fill in the time holed up in bad weather.
Your sixth sense kicks in, the feeling that you are being watched. Slowly you start remembering
where you are, stretched out on a bunk in the old whare having a snooze. You had started work
early to beat the heat of the day and had ideas of doing a night shoot later on. You lift an eyelid and
focus on the door of the whare, and sure enough you are being watched. Standing there with its
ears forward and its eyes and head through the doorway is a yearling deer surveying the person
and three sleeping dogs stretched out on the bunks. A sly grin creeps across your face as you think
how stupid this animal is. Your grin widens as you recall seeing a book titled “Deer on my Doorstep”.
You wonder if there is a book titled “Deer in my Doorway”. Suddenly your thoughts change to how
you are going to catch it. You have never been placed in this situation before. Your mind starts
recalling some of those hunting stories written by buck fevered hunters you have read about in the
hunting magazines left behind by other people who have used the whare at some time. “How would
they handle this? Do they get paid for those stories?” you ask yourself.
Looking at the yearling reminds you of
your first rifle, a 303 army issue Jungle
Carbine, and the first deer you shot with
it, about the same size. The reason you
retired the rifle was because you wore it
out. You remember years ago the look
on that smart arses face who said the
303 was too slow. You told him if this
thing was too slow you would send the
animals a telegram saying that a bullet
was on its way, You think about an
article in one of those magazines about
an old 303 and how somebody had
altered the loading and projectile and
came up with ballistics that if transferred
to a graph you would have to hang it over a cliff to see the full results. Thinking of this brings you to
articles submitted by backyard ballistic experts and gun testers. You wonder if these people ever
read the recommendations of the makers, or know how to re-bed or alter the tension on the king
screw of a rifle as to correct the grouping.
You mentally calculate the distant between you and the deer, 2.6 metres. You confirm this by
counting how many floorboards between you and it. Knowing the width of the floorboards is easy, as
the cigarette packet that is on the floor between you and the doorway is lying exactly lengthwise
across one board. You had measured a packet a while ago for something to do and that you may
need to know the length and width for such an occasion as this. The ache in your ankle returns,
reminding you of the hind you had to wrestle the week before over on the other side of the station.
The one you thought was dead in the creek, but when you got down to it without your rifle it was
very much alive but injured. It had jammed your foot between itself and a boulder as you cut its
throat. Your well-worn ankle high, steel toe capped, leaky boots, fitted with the latest bail twine laces
helped from getting more serious damage. So springing off the bunk at your age and with a tricky
foot is out. You start recalling where you left your rifles.
The Ruger model 10/22 with the stainless steel barrel and synthetic stock, chambered for a .22
Long Rifle cartridge, rotary 10 shot magazine and fitted with a 4 x 40 rubbed off name scope giving
a grouping of 10mm over 20 metres using High Impact ammo. Also fitted with a Laser light sight
tuned into 30 metres, grouping unknown, used for shooting from the hip. Is sitting snugly in its
holder The Parker Hale re barrelled .270 bolt action 5 shot with its custom dented and scratched
wooden stock, bedded with a piece of blotting paper and fitted with a 4 x 32 nitrogen filled Nikko
Stirling sight giving a grouping of around 70 to 75mm 0ver 100 metres, is also sitting snugly in its
holder.
The rifle holders are custom made from Novaflow drainage pipes fitted with trigger guard clips
constructed from No8 wire car tube rubber bands. These are fitted to the right hand side of the front
carrier, so as the rifle butts are at you right knee. They are held on with custom made car tube
rubber bands. The carrier is permanently attached to a 1995 model four wheel drive, fifteen forward
and three reverse, diff lock, oil drip free Suzuki 300cc King Quad. All this is sitting on tractor grip
rear tyres and mud-lug front tyres and parked around the side of the whare. As you have to get past
the animal to get them, they are out.
You sense the broken plastic handle killing, skinning, and slicing bread, stiletto knife folded up in
your pocket and wonder if you should have ordered one of those custom made knives you saw in an
advert in one of those magazines. You could have it made so with a little practice it could be thrown
from the position you are in and penetrate the skull of the animal. The knife may be useless for
cutting bread or anything else but at least it would kill deer in doorways. You could carry it around
strapped to your arm in Rambo fashion. Thinking of Rambo reminds you of those ‘hunters’ you
sneaked up behind a couple days before. Done up in camouflage gear and war paint, the scent of
one of them changed dramatically when you spoke. You remember thinking then when looking at
these guys that they had been watching too many Rambo movies, equipped out for a war. You ask
yourself “When are people going to learn that deer have poor eyesight and are colour blind, yet
have a great sense of smell” They would be better off buying a deodorant and $89 undies than
spending all that money on camouflage gear. You thought at the time why all the heavy artillery,
when any animal in the country can be stopped with a well place .22 shot.
Without moving your head you look around and your eyes settle upon the 300mm green enamel
Warehouse plate strategically placed on the floor within arm’s reach. The remains of the meal you
had about an hour ago is still on it, bit of that venison you had your eye on when talking to those
Rambo’s. Dogs hadn’t bothered to clean it for you. You wonder if you could copy that fella in a
James Bond movie and throw it like he threw his hat and take its head off. The ache in the finger
you caught in a 1½ Victor trap earlier on reminds you that it is needed to carry out the throw but will
not be working correctly.
You remember an article in one of those magazines concerning possums. It stating the high prices
that are supposedly given for skins in the 1990’s. You wonder which planet that author is from. You
too have in a way worked for councils, doing contracts. The only conclusion you have about them is
the same as a lot of farmers, is that they are so far up themselves that they cannot see daylight. No
one else can get up them because their own boots are in the way. You remember the days of
tokens, and the comment made by that author that they didn’t work. You know full well that it would
work and can be made to work. It’s only the people associated with Councils that say it won’t work
It would jeopardise their present jobs and the money that has been invested in councils if were
acknowledged that it could be made to work. You think back how long these Councils last, 40 years
average before they change. So the present ones have less than 20 years to go. You think of the
weeds you will be pushing up by then. You think of all the possums you throw away as they are
worthless, yet could be worth something on the token system. You think that if there was a token
system again your Bank Manager would call you for a friendly chat, not call you about your
overdraft.
You feel the dog sleeping behind you stir slightly. Looking at the drench container full of water and
holding the door open, you estimate the weight of that would be the combined weight of the three
dogs. A Papillion foxy cross, a miniature foxy and a bull terrier with dubious heritage. As you ponder
if they would have the weight between them to deal with the problem, the yearling takes a step
forward landing its hoof heavily on the matai flooring.
The decision you are trying to make is suddenly taken away from you. As the dog that can hear a
worm fart at 50 metres from under the blankets realises something is in the doorway and arouses
the others with his excited bark. The yearling springs back as all dogs awake and head for the
doorway with full noise and without really knowing what is there. Luck would have it. The doorway is
wide enough for all three to fit through at the same time. The chase is on.
You roll yourself off the bunk and picking up a copy of one of those magazines, head for the long
drop. As you settle yourself comfortably on the long drop with the 360 degree view you contemplate
retrieving the walls from down the gully. You look at the roof which is jammed between two branches
in the Beech tree 15 metres away and 3 metres up. And think it could be a bit tricky getting it down
by yourself. Dismissing this small problem from your mind you reach into the sack that you had
placed there earlier and remove the first possum for skinning. As you like sitting to skin possums
and this is the most comfortable seat around, you congratulate yourself for thinking of it. After a time
you realise that the commotion that was going on in the scrub between the yearling and dogs has
stopped. You think about time to go check it out. Reaching for the old magazine you had bought
along you suddenly curse aloud. It has glossy pages.
cheek) in the same form you read articles in magazines as where some go overboard with
detail. Also helped fill in the time holed up in bad weather.
Your sixth sense kicks in, the feeling that you are being watched. Slowly you start remembering
where you are, stretched out on a bunk in the old whare having a snooze. You had started work
early to beat the heat of the day and had ideas of doing a night shoot later on. You lift an eyelid and
focus on the door of the whare, and sure enough you are being watched. Standing there with its
ears forward and its eyes and head through the doorway is a yearling deer surveying the person
and three sleeping dogs stretched out on the bunks. A sly grin creeps across your face as you think
how stupid this animal is. Your grin widens as you recall seeing a book titled “Deer on my Doorstep”.
You wonder if there is a book titled “Deer in my Doorway”. Suddenly your thoughts change to how
you are going to catch it. You have never been placed in this situation before. Your mind starts
recalling some of those hunting stories written by buck fevered hunters you have read about in the
hunting magazines left behind by other people who have used the whare at some time. “How would
they handle this? Do they get paid for those stories?” you ask yourself.
Looking at the yearling reminds you of
your first rifle, a 303 army issue Jungle
Carbine, and the first deer you shot with
it, about the same size. The reason you
retired the rifle was because you wore it
out. You remember years ago the look
on that smart arses face who said the
303 was too slow. You told him if this
thing was too slow you would send the
animals a telegram saying that a bullet
was on its way, You think about an
article in one of those magazines about
an old 303 and how somebody had
altered the loading and projectile and
came up with ballistics that if transferred
to a graph you would have to hang it over a cliff to see the full results. Thinking of this brings you to
articles submitted by backyard ballistic experts and gun testers. You wonder if these people ever
read the recommendations of the makers, or know how to re-bed or alter the tension on the king
screw of a rifle as to correct the grouping.
You mentally calculate the distant between you and the deer, 2.6 metres. You confirm this by
counting how many floorboards between you and it. Knowing the width of the floorboards is easy, as
the cigarette packet that is on the floor between you and the doorway is lying exactly lengthwise
across one board. You had measured a packet a while ago for something to do and that you may
need to know the length and width for such an occasion as this. The ache in your ankle returns,
reminding you of the hind you had to wrestle the week before over on the other side of the station.
The one you thought was dead in the creek, but when you got down to it without your rifle it was
very much alive but injured. It had jammed your foot between itself and a boulder as you cut its
throat. Your well-worn ankle high, steel toe capped, leaky boots, fitted with the latest bail twine laces
helped from getting more serious damage. So springing off the bunk at your age and with a tricky
foot is out. You start recalling where you left your rifles.
The Ruger model 10/22 with the stainless steel barrel and synthetic stock, chambered for a .22
Long Rifle cartridge, rotary 10 shot magazine and fitted with a 4 x 40 rubbed off name scope giving
a grouping of 10mm over 20 metres using High Impact ammo. Also fitted with a Laser light sight
tuned into 30 metres, grouping unknown, used for shooting from the hip. Is sitting snugly in its
holder The Parker Hale re barrelled .270 bolt action 5 shot with its custom dented and scratched
wooden stock, bedded with a piece of blotting paper and fitted with a 4 x 32 nitrogen filled Nikko
Stirling sight giving a grouping of around 70 to 75mm 0ver 100 metres, is also sitting snugly in its
holder.
The rifle holders are custom made from Novaflow drainage pipes fitted with trigger guard clips
constructed from No8 wire car tube rubber bands. These are fitted to the right hand side of the front
carrier, so as the rifle butts are at you right knee. They are held on with custom made car tube
rubber bands. The carrier is permanently attached to a 1995 model four wheel drive, fifteen forward
and three reverse, diff lock, oil drip free Suzuki 300cc King Quad. All this is sitting on tractor grip
rear tyres and mud-lug front tyres and parked around the side of the whare. As you have to get past
the animal to get them, they are out.
You sense the broken plastic handle killing, skinning, and slicing bread, stiletto knife folded up in
your pocket and wonder if you should have ordered one of those custom made knives you saw in an
advert in one of those magazines. You could have it made so with a little practice it could be thrown
from the position you are in and penetrate the skull of the animal. The knife may be useless for
cutting bread or anything else but at least it would kill deer in doorways. You could carry it around
strapped to your arm in Rambo fashion. Thinking of Rambo reminds you of those ‘hunters’ you
sneaked up behind a couple days before. Done up in camouflage gear and war paint, the scent of
one of them changed dramatically when you spoke. You remember thinking then when looking at
these guys that they had been watching too many Rambo movies, equipped out for a war. You ask
yourself “When are people going to learn that deer have poor eyesight and are colour blind, yet
have a great sense of smell” They would be better off buying a deodorant and $89 undies than
spending all that money on camouflage gear. You thought at the time why all the heavy artillery,
when any animal in the country can be stopped with a well place .22 shot.
Without moving your head you look around and your eyes settle upon the 300mm green enamel
Warehouse plate strategically placed on the floor within arm’s reach. The remains of the meal you
had about an hour ago is still on it, bit of that venison you had your eye on when talking to those
Rambo’s. Dogs hadn’t bothered to clean it for you. You wonder if you could copy that fella in a
James Bond movie and throw it like he threw his hat and take its head off. The ache in the finger
you caught in a 1½ Victor trap earlier on reminds you that it is needed to carry out the throw but will
not be working correctly.
You remember an article in one of those magazines concerning possums. It stating the high prices
that are supposedly given for skins in the 1990’s. You wonder which planet that author is from. You
too have in a way worked for councils, doing contracts. The only conclusion you have about them is
the same as a lot of farmers, is that they are so far up themselves that they cannot see daylight. No
one else can get up them because their own boots are in the way. You remember the days of
tokens, and the comment made by that author that they didn’t work. You know full well that it would
work and can be made to work. It’s only the people associated with Councils that say it won’t work
It would jeopardise their present jobs and the money that has been invested in councils if were
acknowledged that it could be made to work. You think back how long these Councils last, 40 years
average before they change. So the present ones have less than 20 years to go. You think of the
weeds you will be pushing up by then. You think of all the possums you throw away as they are
worthless, yet could be worth something on the token system. You think that if there was a token
system again your Bank Manager would call you for a friendly chat, not call you about your
overdraft.
You feel the dog sleeping behind you stir slightly. Looking at the drench container full of water and
holding the door open, you estimate the weight of that would be the combined weight of the three
dogs. A Papillion foxy cross, a miniature foxy and a bull terrier with dubious heritage. As you ponder
if they would have the weight between them to deal with the problem, the yearling takes a step
forward landing its hoof heavily on the matai flooring.
The decision you are trying to make is suddenly taken away from you. As the dog that can hear a
worm fart at 50 metres from under the blankets realises something is in the doorway and arouses
the others with his excited bark. The yearling springs back as all dogs awake and head for the
doorway with full noise and without really knowing what is there. Luck would have it. The doorway is
wide enough for all three to fit through at the same time. The chase is on.
You roll yourself off the bunk and picking up a copy of one of those magazines, head for the long
drop. As you settle yourself comfortably on the long drop with the 360 degree view you contemplate
retrieving the walls from down the gully. You look at the roof which is jammed between two branches
in the Beech tree 15 metres away and 3 metres up. And think it could be a bit tricky getting it down
by yourself. Dismissing this small problem from your mind you reach into the sack that you had
placed there earlier and remove the first possum for skinning. As you like sitting to skin possums
and this is the most comfortable seat around, you congratulate yourself for thinking of it. After a time
you realise that the commotion that was going on in the scrub between the yearling and dogs has
stopped. You think about time to go check it out. Reaching for the old magazine you had bought
along you suddenly curse aloud. It has glossy pages.
Uneventful Day
