Buffalos, Courage And The Prettiest Girl In Town

I could not quite believe what I had just heard. The prettiest little girl in town had just called me brave: “Gee you’re brave, Michael” and the way she had said it, all starry eyed…

It was in Australia’s Top End, in the late 70’s and I had just shot a big buffalo bull and I was standing next to the Toyota, steeling my knife, ready to turn that bull into pet meat. It was just my job – I did it every day – I was a champion for all the furry little dogs and cats in suburban Australia (Oh, and the guys who illegally sold the meat to the US for hamburgers).

And, that particular day, we managed to talk the prettiest little girl in Pine Creek into coming out with us for the day, so we could impress her. And even picking her up had been an ordeal – We had to endure an hour of her father’s lies and dribble – And we new he was lying, because the leathery old guys at the pub told us he’d never shot a buffalo in his life and they new all the stories.

So, the father lied and the more he lied the more he frothed at the mouth and the froth dribbled down the sides of his mouth. We thought perhaps it was some kind of divine punishment like Pinocchio’s nose. So we stood there, Ricko and I, watching the dribble form little rivers, winding their way through the forests of stubble on the sides of the father’s neglected chin. We watched and waited for a gap in the conversation, where we could say that we had a buffalo waiting and leave as gracefully as possible, without looking like horny young larrikins trying to race off his daughter.

Anyway, there I was, with the prettiest girl in town admiring me, the only one who had ever admired my bravery. I stood up a little straighter, even put my chest out a little.

But then something was not right. Ricko was not looking in admiration - In fact, he was laughing. Laughing and looking over my shoulder. And then it dawned on me. I knew before I even turned around – I had just been caught out in front of the prettiest little girl in town. And she was just too simple to realize it.

Alright, so I was not always the best marksman in the world, but then I was never allowed to have a gun when I was young. My dad was a lawyer and he defended too many victims of shooting accidents and even getting one when I was older was hard work. The police kept opposing my firearm license because I'd been a rebellious teenager and got into trouble with the law. But I’d got through all that and become a professional shooter -Professional in the sense that I did it for a living, not that I was any good at it.

But some days, man, some days I could amaze even myself. A running target at 200 yards, BOOM, straight down – heart shot.

Then there were the other days. The ones where I couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a shovel.

But mostly I could bluff my way through, well I used to. That was, until my ego had got the better of me and I came up with the plan.

I explained it to the others - there were four of us – two teams, two Toyotas. It seemed brilliant. We could make a lot more money, get more buffalos. It was simple. Instead of splitting up and going out by ourselves, we could just pool our resources and be more efficient. Someone would go ahead and shoot the buffalos (and I volunteered for that) and the other three would come behind in the other vehicle, bone them out and collect the meat!

But the others got upset when semi-dead buffaloes (and very angry ones) would stand up while they were trying to bleed them. It was just too dangerous and they even made jokes about my marksmanship. Hell - it wasn’t that easy - Buffalos had such thick skulls and little brains – If you were a little bit off target, you’d knock them out and they looked dead. I didn’t know they’d get back up.

So, I decided that as the other blokes were so ungrateful, I would not help them anymore with innovative ideas and they would just have to be happy with the money they were making.

Anyway, so there I was. The prettiest little girl in town, sitting in the Toyota admiring me and the angry semi-dead buffalo behind me, probably on his feet by now, sizing me up for a revenge attack. How the hell was I going to get back in the Toyota gracefully, without losing my new found reputation for bravery! I cursed all the stinking buffalos. If they’d just been given bigger brains and thinner skulls, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.