A fish tale

Just came back from a few days spent at my mother's house in the country. She lives on a 96-acre farm where I grew up. One evening we had a fish fry. Funny story about those fish. A fellow my brothers know is an avid fisherman, as is his father. The duo are all about the sport and not so much about the eats, which works well for us, who are about fish fries and hush puppies and not so much about the sport of stalking them with a hook and line. They fish, we take the fish off their hands. This system has worked fine until recently when things went terribly wrong between father and son.

The father, who it seems hasn't discovered AA yet, is out at a bar one night and locks his keys in his car. Maybe that was the Universe's way of trying to keep a drunk off the road, maybe not. He calls his son late in the night to come help him get into his car -- apparently the father hasn't discovered Pop-A-Lock yet either. The effort does not go well and the father becomes irate, breaks the car window, retrieves his shotgun from inside, and shoots his son in the leg. Now the son is laid up in the hospital and may lose his leg while the father is in the county jail. In an odd testament to family loyalty, the son gets very upset to hear that officers tazered his father, who, suffering a bad case of DTs, tried to escape.

For our part, this is not good at all as we see our fish supply going down the river! Just when we had a good thing going...