November 17 2007
There’s good and bad news this week gang.
Our club lawyer, Wolfgand Schellcasing, sent club headquarters a notr this past week that not only presented a detailed history of our contentious history with various and sundry governmental agencies, but also led us to believe that perhaps we could look forward to resuming normal activities at our facilities. The clubhouse and shooting ranges, in the near future.
The note and history of our relationship with government agencies was so unlikely as to seem, in all honesty, like bad fiction.
Regardless, being encouraged by Wolfgang’s communication, we sent our usual team of clubhouse and range committee people to our facilities to determine what had to be done in order to ready our property to receive a gathering of our members.
Well, after eight years or so, it was decided that we should institute a controlled burn, just to remove the acres of overgrown grass and shrubs.
However, as luck would have it, the controlled burn turned out to be anything but. And the burn, due to unexpected winds, raced toward the clubhouse, and proceeded to envelope it. When the propane tank exploded it pretty much destroyed our clubhouse and three of the five out houses.
You would think that this would have been enough to make for a bad day, but no.
Shortly after the mayhem was over, a group of men from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service showed up and said to our boys that they had reason to believe that in our absence of eight years, the clubhouse had become the habitat of the Golden Cheeked Warbler. An endangered species of fowl.
Marcel Thibideaux looked at what amounts to Federales and pointed out that Golden Cheeked Warblers made their nests by weaving certain types of bark and spider webs, and that we had no trees of that type on our property.
The Feds looked at each other, realized that they had missed a stitch, shrugged, and turned to leave.
That’s when Marcel said, "The little rascals sure are good eatin’ though."
The Feds turned and looked at Marcel, and one of our boys said, "What do the taste like Marcel?"
Marcel kept looking at the Feds, rubbed his jaw, and said , "Well, thet’re sort of like a cross between Spotted Owl and American Bald Eagle."
The Feds locked up for a second, and then when Marcel started laughing, turned and walked away.
Here’s no joke like an old joke.

Till next week
Helga Biermeister
Secretary