The
Axe
The other day, I had to clean the barn on account of the upcoming dove season in the South Zone, and the fact that a bunch of people are coming over to our place to stand out in the hot sun, hold a shotgun and watch chi-chi birds fly over.
What are chi-chi birds? Well, ever since I was eight years old or so, chi-chi birds have been any species of bird that flies over a group of dove hunters that aren’t dove.
So, whenever someone in our group says something like, “Coming over you, Bob!”, and everyone near Bob gets ready to shoot at a group of birds that, upon closer inspection, turn out NOT to be dove, the call to readiness can be quickly nixed by anyone in our group who follows with something like, “Nope, chi-chi birds.”
Over the years, that call has probably saved many a field lark, Inca dove and killdeer wherever my family and friends have hunted.
Heck, if only then gubernatorial candidate George W. Bush (if you don’t know, Google it) would’ve had someone in his circle with enough hutzpah to holler “CHI-CHI BIRD!” right before he laid into that poor little killdeer back on the opening day of dove season in 1994, he might have beaten Gov. Ann Richards by an even wider margin than he did.
But back to the barn cleaning. With the lack of dove and abundance of chi-chis, the dove hunt will end up more of a hang where ping pong and dominoes are played, guitars are picked, food is eaten, and football is watched. The barn has got to be ready.
While tidying up, I found a dust-covered axe in a corner. It’s a rusted-up double-bladed jobber with a faded yellow plastic handle.
When I picked it up, a rush of memories of what I was doing 20 years ago – almost to the day – hit me hard, which is kinda funny for a tool I’ve had for that long and never really used. But for a string of days in the first week of September 2005, it was constantly by my side, sloshing around in the bottom of an airboat I was operating through the streets of New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
I was part of the 2nd Wave of Texas Game Wardens that were sent to assist in dealing with the aftermath of the devastating storm.
Having the benefit of watching a few days news coverage and seeing people sitting on rooftops and others being whacked out of attics with an axe, I figured that, in addition to all the “normal” things game wardens take on disaster deployments, I’d run down to the store and get me a brand new, double-bladed jobber with a yellow plastic handle.
It all seems surreal now. I’ve never been in the military, but it was the closest thing to being in a war zone I could ever imagine. The smell of death was all around, with visuals readily available as to the cause of it. Helicopters hovered. Water was everywhere.
We patrolled with airboats, maneuvering over the tops of parked cars and underneath leaning, albeit turned off, electrical lines – wherever we were needed. We made a ton of contacts.
Some folks welcomed help, and others for reasons both good and bad, wanted to be left alone. I saw the best and the worst in people. I guess that’s just the nature of chaos, and it was why we were there. I’m proud of the job Texas Game Wardens did, and I am also proud that I was a part of it.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to use that old axe back then, but I’m glad I found it. I got some wood to cut so I can cook for all those chi-chi bird watchers I got coming this weekend.
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