The Saga of Deputy Jeff

As mentioned here, I'm distantly related to The Girl. It turns out The Girl has a sister of about the same age and different temperament whom we shall call Better Real Estate (BRE). BRE is married to Deputy Jeff, who the reader may correctly assume is a deputy sheriff. The happy couple live in the Northern wilds of Wisconsin, within spitting distance of the Arctic Circle.

Deputy Jeff is forced to do a certain amount of work on the Indian reservation, so called because the local constabulary have serious reservations about going out to 'the rez' for any reason at all, never mind official business. When I lived out in South Dakota I once observed a large man in a dark uniform come into Cody's place and announce that he'd like to trade his 1911 in on something else, whereupon he pulled the pistol out and unloaded it, then proceeded to throw extra magazines on the counter. I counted eight spare mags, after which curiosity got the better of politely minding my own damn business and I asked why he carried so many magazines.

"I work on the rez." the man replied, as if that explained everything. It did, too. Anyone who has ever packed a gat can tell you that it gets to be weighty and after a few days you don't carry any more iron than you have to, but this man carried eight extra magazines of ammo. A person doesn't do that for the same reason they buy a lawn ornament.

As Deputy Jeff will tell you, every single house inhabited dwelling (all types of dwellings, but generally not any sort of mansion) has between one to five large dogs of indeterminate heritage and irascible disposition. It's pretty much a given fact that none of these dogs have had any shots, as the choice of spending available funds is often made between rent, food and liquor. Sadly, veterinary care doesn't enter the equation. If the dwellings have people inside then the people are going to be armed, and I don't mean with a tomahawk. Hunting and fishing are not just an excuse to drink and play with the gun collection; people put meat on the table this way. Deputy Jeff, for instance, is almost always out hunting one critter or another, and when he isn't hunting he's fishing. This hunting includes bear season.

When Deputy Jeff got his bear tag the first thing he did after celebrating was start mixing up a nice batch of bear bait. One key ingredient to solid bear bait is good old well used deep fryer grease, which Jeff would get from the doughnut shop (there's only one such shop that far North). Well, Jeff was down to his last gallon of grease which he kept out in the garage because BRE wouldn't let him keep it in the kitchen, and he went out to mix up a batch of bear bait, and that's when Jeff discovered that a mouse had eaten a hole in the bottom of the can and the grease was all over the floor. Deputy Jeff decided to clean the mess up before he left for work, so he got out the garden hose and started hosing the floor off, not knowing about cold water and grease. Deputy Jeff's official police vehicle was parked just outside the garage door and it got hosed off as well, mainly from the splatter off the floor. When he was finished, Deputy Jeff got into his uniform and went to work.

As it happened, Deputy Jeff got called out to The Rez for some reason, very likely involving liquor, guns and domestic violence. Deputy Jeff found the residence without any trouble, and as he pulled into the yard eight large dogs came roaring out of the house and headed right for him. Jeff pulled his pepper spray, vowing to spray the first dog that attempted to take a bite out of crime prevention, but he needn't have worried. The dogs were after the car.

Every single dog latched on to a part of the car and started cleaning it with happy enthusiasm. All that grease, you see, had been sprayed on to the front of the car.