A Field Guide to the Bubba Geek

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Annie is sure the rain has driven rattlesnakes out of hiding, so I load the shotgun with rat shot and lug it along. As I slip on the overlarge black rubber wader boots (the ground is like sludge in spots), I realize how incredibly stupid I look. Red straw baseball cap on (which is actually Annie's but it lets my bald head breath), shorts, long-sleeved BLACK Dell shirt and now the boots coming up to my ankle ... Old men wish they looked this good with their black socks and white sneakers.

I'm scruffy from not shaving and my skin is paledue to spending most of my time in front of a monitor. Hair bursts out from every square inch of my skin in a wiry black explosion thanks to my French heritage, which I assume is why it retreated so hastily from my scalp. The French always were good at surrendering in a head-to-head battle.

Guns get heavy when you have to walk around with them for a long time, and none of us are used to having it along. Radar the border collie bonks right into it at one point and stares at it, startled, as if wondering when Daddy grew metal arms. I have to work at keeping it pointed away from everyone. We don't see any snakes but then, given how frightening I look, they probably slithered away in fear.

This is what it means to be a bubba geek. Leaving your monitor long enough to tromp around your ranch in shorts and a long-sleeved high-tech shirt while wearing your wife's cap and huge plastic boots, all the while toting a gun you have no clue how to use.

Life is indeed an adventure.