The Great Brisbee Snipe Hunt copyright 2005 It was a balmy, moonlit night, and the Brisbee Town Square was deserted, except for a few ants crawlin’ up and down the granite bust of The Mayor, which stood in the center of the gazebo, just across from the front door to Jackie’s Place.

Inside the coffee shop a few stragglers were talkin’ and trying’ to think of somethin’ excitin’ to do to ease the summer doldrums. The Mayor and Swampy were absorbed in a discussion of Zen, while Jackie and Pat were comparin’ notes on how to live through givin’ a cat a pill.

It was around eight thirty when the door to the coffee shop opened and R.NNNN. came in, pushin’ the juke box he had donated to liven up the atmosphere for the breakfast crowd from KC/RC. “Hey, folks! We’re gonna have some fun now!”, he said.

“I hope so”, said Gypsy Mary, who was sittin’ in a corner enjoyin’ the last drag on a cigarette before headin’ back to her wagon, “This place is deader than a roach motel”.

A small voice piped up from under a table and muttered, “I know what we could do for some fun. We could go out huntin’ snipe.”

“Huh?”

In a louder tone, the voice said, “We could go on a snipe hunt!”

The group of impatient Brisbeeites, including Swampy, who laughed and wheezed ‘til everyone thought he would choke on the banana flip he was eatin’, turned and eyed the scraggly urchin who was peepin’ out from underneath the edge of a tablecloth.

“Hayel, gal, ain’t no snipes ‘round these heah pahts!”

“Well, yes there is!”, said the scruffy waif, crawlin’ out from her hidin’ place. “I saw one with my very own eyes down by the out-house just a couple of nights ago!”

“Whadaya think, Mare?” said R.NNNN.

And The Mayor answered, “Blah, blah, blah, KWIM?”

After several minutes of jawin’ and debatin’, the group agreed to the hunt. It was decided that R.NNNN. would be the bag-man, and that the brat could be the bush-beater. With that, the odd-ball group took off to find the elusive Brisbee snipe.

The sound of crickets made a noisy backdrop as the group prowled through the weeds behind the out-house. R.NNNN. walked beside the brat, graspin’ his burlap bag tightly to keep from losin’ it as it snagged on twigs. The bush-beatin’ brat swung a long, skinny, chinaberry branch back and forth, pokin’ it through the over-grown patch of weeds, and the rest of the group tagged behind, snickerin’ and gigglin’, while Swampy wheezed, tryin’ to not laugh out loud.

The hunt had been under way for about twenty minutes when the sound of giant wings flappin’ overhead stopped the merry band of snipe hunters dead in their tracks.

“WHAT was THAT?”, said Pat.

“I don’t KNOW”, Jackie shrieked, “but let’s get OUT of here!”

The group scattered so fast that the brat was left holdin’ the bag, wonderin’ what to do next. She crouched down behind a huge boulder tryin’ to hide from whatever had made the sound. Her knees had turned to grape jelly, and she held her breath as she waited for some monster to grab her and drag her off to the haunted cave out on Deadman’s Trail.

FLAP, FLAP, HISSSSSSSSssssssssss. There it was again!!

The brat scrunched down even more and looked up to see what she could see.

There, just above her head, sat a large, dark figure perched on the edge of the boulder. With hands shakin’, she grabbed her chinaberry branch for defense, and felt around for the burlap bag that R.NNNN. had left behind. She crawled as quietly as she could until she reached a spot where she was directly behind the phantom. She gathered her courage, stood up, threw the burlap sack over the shadowy form, and wrappin’ her arms around the squirmin’, squawkin’ creature, she ran as fast as her wobbly legs would move, down the lane and back to Brisbee.

By now the rest of the gang, with the exception of Gypsy Mary, who decided to go skinny-dippin’ down at the fishin’ hole in Ten Mile Creek, had made it back to Jackie’s, and had gathered inside for a final cup of coffee before lights out. They were about ready to call it a day when the brat burst through the door with her catch clutched in her arms. Ploppin’ the wrigglin’ bulk onto the floor, she jumped up and down, grinnin’ from ear to ear.

“Lookie, lookie!! I got one!”, she cried, as the others gathered around to see what she had in the bag.

When the brat loosened the top of the sack, out popped a great blob of blue feathers.

“SMOK! SMOK! ..... SMOK! SMOK!”

“Wayel, ah’ll be!”, chuckled Swampy. “Hayel, gal! Thet ain’t no snipe! Thet thar is tha burd whut lives at tha top uv thu Chinaberry Tree!”

The other Brisbuds were breathless from laughin’ so hard at the huge, comical bird floppin’ around on the floor with its feet tangled in burlap. Well, all but The Mayor, that is.

He straightened his ticker-tape hat, shook his head and said, “Blah, blah, blah, ... KWIM?”