A Story About Grandpa Ben

As long as we are talking about grandpas and guns, I have another story to get out of my system. It has to do with another Great Grandpa. This is the story of Grandpa Ben and the Antelope.

Grandpa's name was Edgar Bennion. His son Boyd, my grandpa, was a game warden.
Edgar was a poacher. he had grown up in the time when there weren't "seasons" on shooting game. If you wanted some meat you went out and shot it.

One day he and my Dad, Bruce, whom Grandpa Ben called "Buddyben", were driving between Cody and Meeteetse, Wyoming. Grandpa saw an antelope out across the barbed wire fence along the road. "Get me my rifle, Buddyben." said Grandpa, and Dad handed him his Thirty ought Six. Grandpa put down the antelope with one shot and he and Dad dragged the carcass under the fence, threw it in the trunk and headed for home where they planned to butcher the meat in the garage.

As they crossed the Greybull River Bridge and drove down Meeteeetse's main street, a sudden and terrible clatter arose from the trunk. Dad said that bulges appeared in the back seat upholstery and dust rose as the car rocked to and fro. It was apparent that there had been an antelope resusitation. Strange glances were seen from bystanders on the boardwalk outside the bank the drug store and the Meeteetse Mercantile. Up the hill toward Grandpa's house the two culprits sped, accompanied by the commotion of confined but flailing hooves.

Reaching the garage, Grandpa pulled in, closed the door and said to Dad, "Buddyben, get me my pistol and stand back." Then Grandpa unlatched the trunk, whereupon the captive sprang from it's automobile prison and began to run in panicked circles around the car. Grandpa followed in hot pursuit, pistol waving as he tried to acquire the target. Finally he got a good bead and put the fugitive out of its misery.

As Dad finished the story he said, "Of course the meat was ruined, to much running and too much adrenaline." Thus ended the sad tale of a poaching gone awry.