The sharp crack of rifle fire rings out at dawn and dusk. It’s hunting season in Louisiana. I don’t participate but have friends and acquired family who do, so have learned to appreciate parts of hunting culture.
Some of that culture was displayed one recent Sunday evening. I stopped at a rural convenience store as its owner was mopping up prior to closing. While there, I observed a camo-wearing dad and child (about first grade age) approach the store door.
Outside, the dad pried off his muddy boots, encouraging the youngster to do the same. The kid slid one off, but the other didn’t budge. Dad urged levering the heel against the curb.
Multiple attempts were a no-go. Dad mimed grabbing the boot to yank it free. Child shakes head, makes face, does not want muddy hands. Dad becomes exasperated. Child begins to cry.
The turban-wearing store owner comes out, bends down and opens a fresh trash bag. The child steps in and the owner ties it around the muddy boot. The door opens, welcoming them in.
Smiles all around.
