Some jokes need to be shared

At every stop light, other motorists beeped their horn and shouted at me, but I'd already coached myself not to look at them. I already knew there was an arrow embedded in my passenger side door. I just didn't feel like explaining it, not to strangers anyway.

How would I explain that I'd shot my own truck, while trying to get a turkey? That I'd known I was going to hit the truck when I let the arrow fly?

Plus they'd want to see the turkey, and I'd have to tell them that I'd missed it. And that it was only a jake.

I was living in Maine, and at that time only the southern portion of the state was open to turkey hunting. I lived in the northern portion, but I put in for the turkey lottery anyway, and got drawn.

That's when reality hit. I'd have to get up at 2 a.m. to leave my house by 3, and drive two hours to get to an area where I could hunt. Once turkey season arrived, I was operating on sleep deprivation in no time.

During the last week of turkey season my hunting buddy Billy Houghton arrived at my house around 3 he'd also gotten a tag and we were carpooling to the turkey zone. We were hunting separate areas of a big orchard. After the long drive I dropped him off and drove hurriedly to my area.

The late morning turned raw and windy. I tried a couple set-ups but never heard a bird. Mother Nature let loose with a further insult, first sending some lazy flakes, and following that up with numbing sleet.

Soon, my hands were like claws. I stood it as long as I could, but the truck and its heater soon dominated my thoughts. I wanted to make it to the morning cut-off time but finally, I couldn't. With only about a half hour left to hunt, and on legs rigid with cold, I tottered toward the truck. And there they were, six jakes lined up like a chorus line.

One of the jakes was noticeably bigger than the rest, but it was his good fortune to be standing in front of a tire. I was very cold, but thinking straight enough to know that shooting the tire was a bad idea. I picked another turkey, drew and shot. As a unit they levitated impressively as the arrow passed harmlessly beneath them and slammed into the truck with unbelievable force.

The three-bladed broad head carried the arrow so far into the truck that its outline was visible on the inside of the door. I'm sure it wasn't part of their product testing, but the arrow made impressive penetration on a Ford Ranger.

Months later, I was archery hunting for deer. As I approached my truck after a morning hunt, what I saw stopped me in my tracks. The whole side of my truck had been pelted with arrows, at least a dozen. All over the side of the truck, I could see about three inches of each arrow sticking out, their ends covered with brightly colored fletching.

I don't know how long I stood there, as if rooted to the ground. I was completely stunned … until my friend Brenda Reynolds nearly rolled out of the woods, laughing so hard she couldn't stand.

What manner of person will toil for hours, cutting aluminum arrows and gluing magnets into them, just to play a joke? Later, I doled out the arrows very selectively, choosing lone pickups parked alongside likely hunting areas.

Some jokes are just too good not to share.