How Not to Clean a Deer
Game wardens have difficulty distinguishing between “worktime” and “off time.” It’s bigger than them – you know, kinda like when a dog sees a squirrel.
Anyway, on a warm winter morning in 1989, Willacy County Game Warden Bruce Biederman’s “squirrel” came in the form of a couple of double ought buckshot hulls he found lying on the side of the road while riding his bike.
Bruce liked to ride his bike a few times a week to stay in shape, and FM-186, which connects Port Mansfield and Raymondville, was the perfect place to do it. FM-186 cuts through some desolate, albeit scenic, ranch country, which also made it the perfect place to shoot a deer if a body was so inclined.
The hulls were about four miles out of town. When he saw them, Bruce stopped his bike, picked one up (probably sniffed it), and scanned his surroundings (probably through squinted eyes with The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly theme playing in his head). Satisfied that the shooter was no longer in the area, Bruce picked up the other hull and pedaled back to Port.
Not long after he arrived at his house, the phone rang. Back in 1989, caller ID wasn’t a thing in Port Mansfield. Bruce picked up the receiver.
“Hello.” “Is this the game warden?” “Speaking. How can I help you?”
“There was a guy who is staying in a blue and white trailer house on Sea Spray Drive that was bragging about killing a deer off 186 last night.” Click.
Bruce wasn’t optimistic about making much out of the information the caller gave, but he put on a uniform, grabbed the two shotgun hulls, and headed over to Sea Spray anyway.
Upon arriving at the only blue and white trailer on that street, Bruce ran the plates on a light-green 1980 Pontiac Bonneville sedan that was parked out front. After getting the return from Willacy County dispatch, he walked up and knocked on the front door. A ragged -looking, heavy-set middle-aged man opened the door and stepped out on the front porch.
“Is that your car?” Bruce asked, pointing to the Bonneville.
“Uh, yes sir.” Bruce knew he didn’t have much, so he figured he’d bluff.
The only problem with that is, if the bluff doesn’t work, he might look stupid. Bruce didn’t like looking stupid.
Bruce said, “I need to look in that trunk,” he said, pointing to the Pontiac as he pulled the two shotgun hulls out of his pocket.
“There was a deer shot on 186 last night.”
Bruce could see the man’s eyes get bigger when he saw the hulls.
“The trunk, sir,” Bruce said, authoritatively.
The guy just stood there. This was one strange dude. Bruce started to think the bluff might’ve been a bad idea.
“It’s in the washing machine!”
“Excuse me?” “The deer – it’s in the washing machine!”
“Well, let’s go have a look.”
The man opened the door to the trailer and led Bruce to a small laundry room inside the home. The washing machine lid was closed, but there was blood around the edges of it. Bruce opened it and saw a yearling doe stuffed around the agitator.
At this point, Bruce wasn’t about to engage the guy in a conversation about what might bring a man to a point in his life where he thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to shoot a deer off the road and then take it home and stuff it in his washing machine. Bruce was only concerned with writing the guy a ticket, seizing the deer, and getting the hell out of there.
Looking back on it all some 37 years later, I guess the only thing that can be said for certain is that the guy found out the hard way how not to clean a deer.
.png)
