Conflict Resolution with the Old Trapper

Hello Friends,

Now I'm not one normally prone to violence. My motto has always been, 'Live, Let Live, and Eat Jerky." It's right catchy, I know. Many a t-shirt entrepreneur has sought permission to license my sayin' in an attempt to send positive messages through soft cotton fabrics. I've declined every offer, preferring instead to send my message of beef jerky awareness through the social tendrils of the interwebs. On rare occasion, and only when pushed far beyond my breakin' point, I do resort to assertin' myself physically and never with the intent to harm, only to eliminate whatever threat I may perceive.

Last Week Continued

If you read last week's dispatch, you may have noticed the (quite funny, in my humble opinion) crack about burying a hatchet next to the head of a surly Frenchman. I didn't finish the story and promised I'd do it at a later date. Well that date has arrived. To recap, many many years ago, a group of Frenchman came under the mistaken notion that I'd poached a number of their traps (something akin to murder in the code of the trapper). When first confronted, I was unable to convince them of their error and was then forced to flee under threat of great bodily harm.

He Deserved It

After several weeks playin' cat-and-mouse (I was the cat, the Frenchmen just didn't realize it at the time), I came upon them late one night as they sat near their warming fire. Without hesitation and in complete darkness, I hurled my trusty hatchet at the largest, surliest of the bunch, and it lodged itself deep into a tree trunk, roughly 1/4 on a inch away from the fella's face. I didn't miss, oh no, I hit my intended target and when I emerged from the darkness holding a hatchet in each hand and a 8 inch buck knife clenched between my teeth, the Frenchmen quickly decided I wasn't worth the trouble. After their initial start, and a bit of reasoned conversation, the Frenchmen and I came to understand we had more things in common than not.The remainder of the night was spent drinking a bubbly wine they called Champagne (which they seemed awfully proud of, though I didn't see the appeal) and eating my vast store of beef jerky.

I'm no Aesop, and my stories are not fables, but I do believe there are things to be learned from our life experiences.

The Moral of the Story

I'm no Aesop, and these stories are not fables, but I do believe there are things to be learned from our life experiences. In this instance, I learned that the French have deep wells of respect for the assertive types, those who initially present themselves as enemies may end up anything but, and in the end, beef jerky really does bring people together. All my best,