Will you help, you betcha, see you Saturday, come heck or high water, ah, it all sounds so good, from last Tuesday. The only problem is, is today, is Saturday, the day I need the help, and I’m left thinking once again, nothing worse than a four pound test friendship, on a twenty pound test day.
I start chipping ice to free the house, and it makes me mad. After forty yards I’m soaked in sweat and my outer jacket was thrown in the fish house. I go from mad to raw anger. I pulled on the house.
Early last winter, we set the ice shack and the guy who said he would help haul it out, showed up just as we finished.
Today he cancelled by phone message, before I ever got started. In both cases, He had impeccable excuses. I don’t care anymore; I’m excusing him for life. He will be in metaphorical fishing terms, caught and released, for good.
I pulled that house by myself, I pushed that house by me-self as in me, me-self and I, and I can tell you, I didn’t like it. Every step grunting, grinding my way to the public access, pushing or pulling I was getting madder by the minute. I think I was so hot; I’m pretty sure it melted snow under my boots, which made it even more difficult.
I get so angry thinking with two guys, this would still be a lot of work, but much easier, that made me mad. I pulled on the house.
I thought about how all winter he never missed a chance to fish in the house. That made me mad. I pulled the house inches closer to the trailer. At the access, just as I was getting to the part where it would get even harder, two guys showed up and saved themselves the trouble of watching me have a heart attack, by helping me load the shack.
They asked why in heavens name I would attempt to do all this work by myself, that made me mad, but I told them I had help lined up, that cancelled. They said I needed better help. I agreed.
You can’t be friends indoors or outdoors by just talking the talk in my life, every once in a while you gotta walk my walk, and sometimes it requires an –e- for effort. The trout whisperer