Читать книгу Never Cry Halibut. and Other Alaska Hunting and Fishing Tales онлайн

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“I have to go hunting,” I told my girlfriend, MC, as we put away groceries when I got home.

“You just got back yesterday. There’s still deer blood rotting in your hair!” she said. “And you’re leaving in a few days with your brothers to go sheep and caribou hunting.”

Everyone knows it’s bad luck to shower during hunting season, but MC is always busting my chops about it. It might be our biggest point of contention; well, that and she gets all weird and irrational at the beginning of each hunting season when I stage a few harmless pagan rituals and become the Wildermann—a furry man-beast with an insatiable appetite for blood—for a night. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a chance to blow off a little steam, get dressed up in furs, and run around the neighborhood howling and chasing dogs, cats, and children with a torch and stone ax.

“You can take the jungle out of the tiger, but you can’t take the tiger out of the jungle,” I whispered, staring off into the distance.

“I think you mean you can take the tiger out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the tiger,” MC said.