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Around this part of the country, seeing a kangaroo in an alfalfa
field is not a common event.
Now the first to actually report the kangaroo to the sheriff's
office was a fellow who had been spending a rather protracted, and
highly liquid, evening down at the Silver Spur. He wouldn't give his
name, but the dispatcher knew who he was.
Others had probably spotted the kangaroo first, but might have
given some thought to just how it might sound if they reported it,
and besides, he was just happily munching and hopping around out
there and not bothering anyone, really, and we're not the kind of
people to interfere in anyone else's life for no reason. Not even
the life of a kangaroo.
The deputy couldn't locate the kangaroo and radioed his failure
back to the dispatcher. This was overheard by Jim down at the local
radio station and reported at the top of the hour. When that
happened, the phone lines buzzed with people who had either already
seen the kangaroo or who wanted to and wanted to know which alfalfa
field he was in.
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The farming area to the west of town quickly filled with families
in cars, cruising around slowly, looking for the visiting foreigner.
Veterinarians were called by reporters to see if anyone had a pet
kangaroo who might have escaped. The zoo is 25 miles away, but it
quickly counted noses and couldn't come up one kangaroo short.
The Great Kangaroo Hunt lasted until dark.
Speculation lasted for days over where it had come from, where it
had gone, and whether or not the coyotes would get it.
After most of a week went by with no more sightings, the kangaroo
began to blend into the mists of local legend. No one had taken a
photo of it, of course, but no one seriously doubted we'd had a
kangaroo here, either.
Sometimes a community needs a good kangaroo sighting.
[Slim Randles]
Brought to you by Ol' Max
Evans. See it at
www.slimrandles.com.
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