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Mid America Buckskinners Info Page

Missouri Iowa Nebraska Kansas

No, it's not skinning bucks............ Developed and maintained by JP Finn

How It Really Was

by Billy No-Crumbs

Also Known As Billy the Mouse Killer

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How It Really Was
by Billy the Mouse Killer

I owe JP a great deal. I have always had an interest in things Buckskinning but didn't know how to get started. JP gave me the skinny and helped me get started. Through the years he has been mentor, teacher and friend. Then after the Southeastern at Tallahassee last spring my usually tight lipped good friend turned into the Mouth of the Midwest and wrote an absolute fabrication about me and that stupid mouse. So I come (with red face) to clear up this mousy matter.

I always camp with JP and family at the Southeastern. Great people (his mom is the greatest of all). The Southeastern is my only chance to see JP all year. And, I always borrow a place to throw my roll because I travel in a corvette (so much for bringing too much stuff). So this year I got to vous with my great friend at the Marvelously Mousy Southeastern.

It seemed that everyone there complained about mice except JP. The mice chewed leather goods, they raided flour sacks, and they even slept in moccasins. I heard one of the Dog Soldiers complaining about floury footprints in the dry goods box. Why, one of the ladies even had one of the furry little varmints nibble at her bodice. Man did she squeal. I never knew that mice could be such rude neighbors.

The Story

Storm clouds were racing across the dark sky. JP's little green flag had protested until it was as ragged as an old pair of cheap underwear after one too many pots of redbeans and hot chillies. There was no rain, just wind and clouds. The wind blew at about gale force all week. A lot of canvas got frayed that week.

There was no scratch, scratch......but there was this sound. A very loud sound. Sort of like a water buffalo with his head caught in a big paper bag. It was three in the morning. Anyone would have sat "bolt upright". That sound was so loud that it over rode the sound of the wind and JP's confounded flapping flag. I really thought that old Possum head was in my (well JP's) wedge tent with little old me.

Being a good skinner I always lay out a quick-light (flint and steel, char, and a little tender) near a candle......just in case.

So there is this noise in the dark. And right beside my feet. So I'm fumbling around with the quick-light. Picture this: a six foot four inch, 270 pound man wrapped in a blanket trying to set a quick-light in the pitch dark while a deranged water buffalo is trying to eat his feet.

It was at about this time I realized that my bladder is full to overflowing.
Scrape, scrape.
Rattle, rattle.

So I grab my period correct, OSHA approved, childproof Bic lighter. Spin the wheel half a dozen times (while my bladder gets fuller), light the candle and look towads my feet. I saw the mouse. The mouse saw me.

I beat the mouse under the tent flap.

See, the mouse wanted to go. But I had to GO (and not in the same way as that stupid mouse).

The mouse found some yonder. And I went. Right there. In the middle of the camp. I WENT. Almost went on the coffeepot.

Only after I went did I reach back into the tent and pick up my hawk. I used the hawk to poke around and make sure that the mouse was gone. And he was.

Before I wrapped back up in my blanket I offered a little tobacco to the four directions and thanked the Maker that the mouse had gone, And, that I hadn't before I got out of that Bell-back.


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If you want to plaver, do so. Hey, jp!