The more I read here the more I remember.
In the early '70s I hunted the Savannah River swamp for deer, with deer hounds. One of us would usually put in a boat at the U.S. 301 bridge and motor up to "our" stretch of the river to catch the dogs if they tried to follow a deer swimming the river to S. Carolina. One Saturday my buddy Robbie, in his 60s, did that and took his constant hunting companion with him, a black man named Pete. While in the river they spied a doe swimming. Knowing that a shot might alert a game warden to come nosing around, they pulled up alongside the doe and Robbie grabbed her ears and pushed her head under, holding her until she stopped struggling. They drug her into the little johnboat, jerked the cord bringing the Mercury to life, and headed downriver to his truck, hoping the game warden didn't catch them with a wet deer. Everything was going fine and they were well along toward the landing ............ when the deer gasped for air, then immediately began trying to gain her feet, kicking wildly, hooves flailing the air and making strong progress toward kicking the sides out of the little boat. Robbie is running the motor and yells, "Hol' her down, Pete". Pete jumps on her, which just makes the doe fight and kick that much harder. Pete hollers back, "I cain't hol' 'er boss!" "Well, turn her loose then", Robbie yells. Pete answers, "I cain't turn 'er loose neither!"
Both parties in this saga are long gone.
SRH
