Don E Webster

Don E. Webster is attempting to put his life back together after being released from the Broken Antlers Rehabilitation Clinic, where he received therapy to treat a debilitating addiction to The Outdoor Channel. "It needs to be included in the War on Drugs." Although he's on the mend, he remains jealous and resentful of fox squirrels-- "...they build snug tree houses in my backyard, and sleep most of the time. They've never owed a penny to Visa or Mastercard, and they don't have to worry about the rising price of gas, or fight Monday morning traffic. How in hell did they get so lucky?!"

Don didn't write his first book until the age of 62. "I had to do something. All that fine wine was starting to turn into vinegar."

Awards: Winner of the Phil Ford Humor Award, 2013 Outdoor Writers Association of California, for his column "Canine Comics" in MyOutdoorBuddy.com

BURY ME IN MY WADERS - An Old Duck Hunter Recalls His Fowl Past

All duck hunters are crazy, and Don proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt in this book.

"We're crazy, that's for sure, but it's a profound and beautiful form of insanity. I don't think we're as nuts as mountain climbers. They may have more fun than duck hunters."

DOUBLE-OUGHT BUCK - a novel

"One reviewer said it was really contrived and not worth reading, but gave it two stars anyway. They may have felt sorry for me. I like what Kurt Vonnegut had to say: "...any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel or a play is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae or a banana split."

BEARS, BEER, TROUT TACOS, ETC. - Short Outdoor Tales & Other Quasi-Kindred Illuminations

A collection of Don's columns from MyOutdoorBuddy.com. A mix of silly, serious, funny, and (hopefully) thought-provoking. "I tossed in some poetry at the end to try and justify all the time I spent reading Allen Ginsberg and Lawrence Ferlinghetti when I was in college."

Don's website: donewebster.com

Here's an excerpt from "Canine Comics" - Don's award-winning article:

...There was the boy whose parents sent him to Mississippi one summer to spend time with his redneck uncle who lived way back in the piney woods, and was a passionate coon hunter. The first night he took the boy hunting with him, he handed the lad a shotgun. "Do I get to shoot the raccoon?" the boy asked.

"Listen to me, boy, and listen good," his uncle said. "Don't shoot unless you hear me tell you to shoot. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yessir," the boy said.

The man owned a slobbering, frenetic hound named Old Blue, and in hardly any time at all, the frenzied, baying dog had a coon up a tree. The boy's uncle climbed the tree, the limbs shook violently, the coon fell out on the ground, and the hound was on it in a flash. It was quickly obvious to the boy that his uncle had trained Old Blue to finish off whatever fell from the tree.

Due to its perverse and violent nature, the manner in which the wild-eyed, salivating hound accomplished this task can only be alluded to in a discreet and opaque manner. To state that it was highly unorthodox is perhaps an understatement. At any rate, it is best left to the imagination...

The evening wore on, and Old Blue treed the fourth raccoon. There was a vicious and prolonged shaking of the branches, and the boy watched in shock and surprise as his uncle descended in mid-air from the tree. Old Blue, his eyes glazed over in fiendish, depraved anticipation, gathered himself to spring.

Even before he hit the ground, the boy's uncle was screaming at the top of his lungs, "Shoot! Shoot! Shoot boy! Shoot Old Blue!"