Couple of years ago, I was down south visiting Matt G. and family. As part of his on-again, off-again campaign to Get LawDog To Move To The Metroplex, Matt likes to take me around and show me the temptations.
On this trip, one of said temptations was an absolutely wonderful little leather goods store in Foat Woath that specializes in Cop Gear.
I'm looking about, trying not to drool too obviously, when I spot a display of Hatch Gloves.
Now, not a whole lot of people know that it's Bad Luck to leave a holster shop without buying something, and I'd been kind of hankering for a pair of search gloves, so on impulse I buy a set of Kevlar-lined StreetGuard gloves.
I wander back home, and guess what my brother finds on the front fence the very next morning?
A hawk. With a broken wing.
I know -- know -- where this one is going.
I scoot back to the phone, call the office and have them forward the call to the Game Warden.
He isn't anywhere close to be around here. Of course he isn't.
So, I dial the local Animal Control. Local Animal Control will be happy to chase down the feathered pile of talons and beak and general pissed-off-ed-ness.
I hang up the phone, stare skywards while counting to 20, pull on my brand-new set of kevlar-lined gloves, just in time to hear Chris say, "What the hell is the dog-catcher doing?"
The dog-catcher is, as a matter-of-fact, trying to herd a very large, very unamused raptor into a dog crate with bare hands and a stick.
I trundle out to make sure that neither the dog-catcher nor the hawk wind up with any further damage.
Somewhere towards the end of the ensuing debate -- the hawk held opinions most firm regarding small boxes -- the Hungarian World Champion Weightlifter (Gnome Division) popped out of nowhere and fetched the palm of my right hand a good solid whack with a ball-peen hammer.
Leastways, that was the impression I got.
Couple of tense moments later, the hawk is on its way to the Wildlife Rehab place in Itchy Paw Falls and I'm staring at my brand-new, just-purchased set of kevlar-lined gloves -- with a fairly impressive beak-mark in the palm. And wondering how much this trip to the E.R. was going to cost.
Imagine my surprise when I gingerly pulled off the glove to reveal: a bruise. Granted, it was a bruise that probably went all the way through my hand -- but when you're expecting to see a hole filled with blood and bone, a bruise isn't that bad.
Hatch Streetguard gloves get the LawDog Paw of Approval.