My Dad’s Knife

When my dad was growing up he had a best friend named Gilbert. He and Gilbert spent a lot of time

camping, hiking, hunting, and doing other boy things. One day they decided to take a hike up into the

foothills behind my dad’s house. As they hiked up a small canyon they found a tree and in the tree was

a mountain lion or a bobcat. Gilbert, being an avid hunter, took out his knife and threw it at the cat. The

knife then lodged in the trunk of the tree just below the cat.

This presented the boys a unique problem. If the knife was one of theirs they would have left it and

hopefully remembered to get it back on the way home if the cat had left. The knife, however, belonged

to Gilbert’s dad, Uncle Harry. I imagine Gilbert felt like Small’s on sandlot. He knew he had to get the

knife back.

The boys devised a plan. My dad would cover Gilbert, by throwing rocks at the cat, while Gilbert climbed

the tree. Brilliant? I don’t think so, but it worked. The knife was recovered safely and the boys continued

the hike.