Picture this...Dennis, Tx----school is out and stayin' with Mama Fronie and Daddy Ernie on the farm---loved it--runnin' wild in the woods, fishin', huntin', just me n Penny---the little runt Terrier---squirrel dog extraordinare---and 300 + acres to run wild in. Back then--all you had to do was call your neighbors n tell em you were gonna be at their tank, or huntin in their woods. As it was---really didn't even have to call ---like I said earlier---THE GOOD OLE DAYS----if you didn't abuse the land the owners didn't care if you hunted, fished or just walked thru. Within walkin' distance I had access to about 8-10 stock tanks, some had catfish, some bass---all had perch----n big ole bullfrogs. The main topic of my story.
Daddy Ernie would say---boy --its about time for you to get a haircut. Man, I dreaded that and you'll see why. The guy that cut hair was an old retired barber---he used clippers and man they were hair pullers. Wore my hair short, they called em burrs back then. Now they call em GI Cut--or other fancy names. Here's where the bullfrogs come in.
I would take off with my trusty 22---Penny the squirrel dog----converted to frog dog when huntin frogs and hit the tanks that held the frogs. I would sneak up on the tank dam and peek over---the bullfrogs would be settin' on the bank---usually underneath trees in the shade. I would pick one and shoot it in the head with my 22--usually it would jump in---reflex and if the others that were in sight did not jump in also I would pop another. They usually didn't go too far and if the tank was clear I could see 'em and with a stick drag 'em to the bank. Muddy water was a little more difficult to find them in---but I would persevere and get my frog. Waitin' awhile and the ones that jumped would have to surface and their big ole' green heads a floatin in the water made good targets. Now is when Penny turned into frog dog---he hated it----I know he did---he would look at me as if to say---"you want me to do what?". After throwin' a few rocks or whatever at the floatin frog he would go get it. Little guy could swim--short legs a churnin. Like I said---he didn't like it and would rub his face in the grass gettin the frog taste off.
Have you guessed yet what the froglegs were for? Traded 'em for haircuts for me n my Grandad. Usually, I would get about 8-10 frogs---figure about 16-20 legs---a good meal. The barber was tickled---I was in pain from the hair pullin.
---he would take a run with the clippers and when he threw the hair off he would pull some with the trimmins. Daddy Ernie got the scissors so he never experienced the "dreaded clippers".