Most townsfolk here in Catapult will admit up front that there are bigger and better known hunts, but we still like to think ours is one of the best, a well-kept secret that caters to the cream of connoisseurs, the Bigfoot mavens, the Sasquatch cognoscenti. Hell, you take some of those ragtag, rattle-the-redwood bashes up there in Washington state and Idaho, why you'd think they'd actually caught and mounted old Sasquatch, when in fact right here in The Pult, in one of the finest museums of BF artifacts and memorabilia extant, we have more authentic remnants than all those places put together.
Veruckt just seems to have a sixth sense about Bigfeet. He'll nose around in the woods where a BF is suspected, pick up a twig or some bracken, sniff it, catch the spoor, and set right out after the beast like some pedigreed bloodhound. Simply amazing. Doc is always in demand for his skill; hunters go to him first when they hit town, and though that nose of his isn't cheap, he'll hire out by the hour to lead a safari.
The place is a gold mine of BF lore, and the man, well, he's one of a rare breed we here in Catapult cherish as we would a national treasure. The way that man smells defies description. For sure, if you want the best of things Sasquatch, Catapult is the launching point for your expedition. Our annual Yeti Fete, the Sasquatch Scramble, practically defines the science, as well as the sport, of Bigfoot hunting.
Now it is true that most of us Catapulters don't actually go out on the hunt; we take more of a support role, you might say, providing the housing, provisions, supplies, souvenirs and paraphernalia necessary to mount a first-class expedition. And we always have a bang-up time come hunt month. Sure, sometimes we lose a cow or two to a nearsighted hunter, and sometimes revenue agents will bust a camp for an illegal game or selling some contraband sauce, or maybe even for inviting a few ladies of pleasure along; but by-and-large we find the Scramble profitable -- REAL profitable.
In fact, at first I think we were just a little worried about old Doc, and chipped in to help with his, shall we say, stability? But when we put a room on the town hall, and had money left for a party I think the Doc gained a peculiar notoriety 'round Catapult. Nice. Real nice. A celebrity who can maintain complete anonymity by orchestrating the debacle, annually, in a neighboring burg. No one else really had it in 'em.
"brushed in honey and dusted with cinnamon and cocoa to make it just the right orangy-brown shade. And that mutt-ugly face complete with marzipan nose, giant jellybean eyes, and rock candy teeth.
Addie drew her design from the archives in Doc Veruckt's museum. It's a real tradition. Most of us get a chuckle out of it when we're in a group, but damned if sometimes there isn't a shiver that goes through you when you go by that window late at night, and that gigantic confection is standing there, staring out at you, and the moon is just right and there's nobody else around....especially if you're helping to close the DrinkUpandGetOut.
Hell! You'd a thought a murder had been committed by the time the sheriff got roused up and Addie was called to assess the damage! Nobody dared touch the vandalism, naturally, because it was evidence, but when gawkers began to show up and a few little kids got around their parents and started to point and snicker, the Reverend Titus Butts took it on himself to drape the obscenity with a Johnson Mills feed sack.
I'm here to tell you that our hearts beat a little faster to watch that feisty little man up there, his modest eyes averted, his spindly arms feeling around that big hunk of gingerbread: he went at it from the rear because the statue was facing the street and too heavy to move, so he had to grope his way until he had the sack just right. Took him a while, it did. With people gesturing and calling out directions through the window. First he caught the sacking under the cheeses, then under the sausage, so he had to get the range of the forcemeat and muenster by tracing the illicit additions with his fingers.
"logo. Despite his best intentions, a few unfeeling people made jokes--and more than a few did double takes before the Sheriff determined there was no way he could get any prints but Titus' from the knockwurst and curds, and so he castrated the atrocity--even insisting, against Rev. Butt's objections, that he remove the feed sack--because (as he later told us), being the animal-rights person she is, Addie didn't want her creation to seem unnatural--like those nude statues in the Sistine chapel, she said, that some fools had painted fig leaves on. Nope. Mr. Foot had to be au naturel or nothing, had said Addie; and naturally, since he is a tradition, she got her way.
Some say, in private of course, that old Addie damn near laughed her garters into a knot when she first saw the vandalism undraped, but that she had to put on a straight face for the Rev. Butts. After all, the church does give Pye in the Sky a lot of business. It was rumored, too, that Addie even would have defended the anatomical correctness, but for the fact that the baked goods motif had been adulterated by the meat and dairy juxtaposition. And though few in Catapult are Kosher, Addie follows her long-standing motto: cultural diversity is nothing if it's not Pye in the Sky. It sure does ask one to pause and reflect.