What Happens at Hunting Camp

What follows is a rough approximation of a conversation from the other night:

(Beloved teenage son has spent the afternoon hiking with buddies)

Dad:  Make sure you get a shower when you get home and check yourself for ticks.

Son:  I never can find them.

Dad:  I usually feel them crawling on me.  Felt two of them crawling on me when I was waiting to get a shot at a longbeard out in Kansas.  R (the young man whom the beloved Swede took on his first turkey hunt) lifted his shirt after a morning of hunting.  Asked if I had any tweezers.  Must have had at least three of them attached to him.  I was going to go look for some tweezers and then remembered I'd seen some in R's first aid kit.

(Editorial note:  That would be the first aid kit the beloved Swede was shaking his head and laughing about, thinking R's mother was being overly protective in sending him off to hunting camp.)

Dad:  I remembered seeing them (the tweezers) when I opened the kit looking for antiseptic after the bobcat jumped on D (one of the hunting guides).

Me:  Bobcat?  There was a bobcat?

Dad:  I didn't tell you about that?

Me:  I think I would have remembered hearing about a bobcat attack.

Dad tells the story.  It wasn't really an attack, he says.  Just a bobcat who happened to mistake a grown man making turkey calls for the real thing, leaving D with claw marks on both his scalp and leg.

Thank heaven there was no real danger at hunting camp, though.  Nor the need for over-protective moms to pack first aid kits.