Gone Fishin', the 1st & the last

It was just a few years ago, the Spring of 2009 - I'd flown to the ranch with my father, T. Boone, for the weekend, for some "quality" time - time which I'd never known to be true, but I still held out hope.

We were to go fishing together early the next morning, something I'd never done with my father, ever. I'd taught myself how to fish, late in my teens, alone.

6 am we were to head to the 50 acre pond, I was ready at 5.

The boat was full, with Keith, the ranch manager, along with the wildlife guys, Jeremy and Ryan - it would be 5 of us, in a 20 foot boat - why, I thought, were all of these people on this little boat ?

Off we went to the first fishing spot - "okay" said my dad - there was silence - "okay" he said again -  I looked up, away from my fishing gear, up, at Keith, Jeremy and Ryan - my glance was met with all 3 of them looking at me and then back at my father - "okay" he said again, for the 3rd time - that's when they got the OK to began to telling him each and everything they knew about every person that Boone hated, every person he had a resentment for, that Keith, Jeremy and Ryan knew anything about.

They went down the "list", the eyes & ears of this ranch, like clockwork, the eternal list of people they'd obviously spoken about before, at length, some of whom were at the ranch currently, some of whom had been there recently and most of whom had not been there for decades - beginning with those with the most recent "transgressions", picking each person apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

This went on, non-stop, for several hours.

When the enemy list was exhausted, the fishing trip was over.