CORKY

“Hey, Mac, git’cher 12 guage anna box of #6 cartridges. Let’s go duck huntin’.”
“Cain’t do it, Luke,” sez I, “Been havin’ too much trouble with my pet.”
“What pet?” sez Luke, liftin’ his huntin’ cap and skritching his curly gray hair whilst lookin’
round muh kitchen. “Git yerse’f a dog, did ya?”
“Nope,” sez I. “More trouble’n any dog ever been.”
“Well, Hector, Mac, git’cher stuff an’ bring yer pet along.”
“Nosir,” sez I gitting up frum muh sprawled position o comfort at thuh kitchen table. “Don’t
dare ta join ya, Luke. Doggone pet’s thuh worst thief ya ever seen.”
“Well, leave it ta home then,” sez Luke, gittin’ sorta antsy ta be goin’. “Time’s a-wastin’,
ol’ buddy. Let’s go.” He’s still lookin’ ‘round fer Corky, muh pet. So I gits muh gun an’
some shells, slippin’ inta muh red’n black plaid huntin’ coat, slap on muh headgear, an’ we
head out fer duck huntin’ in Luke’s battered pickup truck.

“Corky!” I yells at thuh back o the yaller pickup. “Git outta there an’ stay home!” Course,
Corky ain’t one ta do what I sez. Luke be rubbin’ his lookers, tryin’ ta git a look at muh
theivin’ pet. Then he looks me over, sorta ‘spicious like, an’ sez:
“Ain’t nothin’ thar, Mac, nothin’ a-tall. You been juicin’ up on alki already this AM?”
I laffs at that. “Nope,” I sez, tellin’ him, “Been most a month since I had any hard sauce ta
burn muh gizzard.”
“Well,” sez Luke as we gits inta his pickup, “Som’pin’ ails ya.” An’ we gits ta truckin’ out
ta thuh duck blind, stoppin’ onna way fer some coffee’n donuts. Whilst ridin’, I tells him:
“Corky ain’t no reglar kinda pet...damn theivin’ critter. Sorta a magical li’l elf what come
ta make muh life miserable. Fact is, Luke, I’m thuh on’y one kin see him.”
Luke ain’t buyin’ it; I kin tell by thuh squinty sideways look he casts my way. “Yer tellin’
me thet ya gut this here elf fer a pet, an’ on’y you kin see him? Whatta crock, Mac. An’
ya say ya ain’t been sippin’ alki.” Luke laffs like ta split a gut.

“It’s true,” sez I, fishin’ stuff outta muh pockets what Cocky had stole when we were gittin’
coffee’n donuts. It were one er them gen’ral country stores what carries most ever’thin’ a
body cou’d want. An’ Cocky, bein’ invisible, had scoffed up an’ put inta muh pockets what
he thunk we’d be wantin’ whilst duck huntin’. “How ya ‘spect alla this stuff gut in muh
pockets?” I ax Luke. “I was with you ever’ secont we were inna store?”
“I dunno how ya done it, Mac,” sez Luke, “But if’n ‘twarn’t there afore ya left home, ya
stole it yer own se’f.” Warn’t no sense argifyin’ ‘bout it none, so’s I jest shets muh mouth,
knowin’ I gotta shoot more’n a duck ta git rid o Corky.

So’s we gits ta thuh duck blind an’ gits our decoy ducks ta floating, loads up our guns, an’
blows our quackers ever’ time we see ducks flyin’ ‘bout. Course, ducks ain’t thuh dum’est
birds ta fly, an’ none o them gut fooled inta comin’ in ta git kilt. ‘Tain’t thuh warmest sport
ta be doin’, neither, an’ muh teeth git ta chatterin’ jes when I seen Corky slip som’pin’ inta
Luke’s jacket. Soon’s he gits hisse’f back inta thuh bush, I raise muh gun a takes a shot at
him. “KaaaaBOOOM!” Luke ‘bout jumps rate outta his skin, an’ starts cussin’ me fer
shootin’ with no ducks ta kill. “‘Twere Corky, Luke,” sez I, “I seen him slip som’pin’ intayer pocket. He di’n’t give me all he stole.” Luke checks his pockets an’ pulls out a pint o
blackberry brandy. “Mighty thoughtful li’l elf, ain’t he?” sez Luke, an’ we gits warm frum
sippin’ blackberry brandy.

Quick sketch of CORKY Thuh Thieving Elf: