Another Peavy Story

Living on a dirt road “out in the middle of nowhere” in Wilkinson County meant you never knew what to expect. Drunks love the perceived safety of a dirt road and while the good ones would just pull off to the side and drink, the bad ones would run in the ditch and use your mailbox post to pry (or attempt to pry) themselves out! Really this was better than their knocking on the door to see if you had a tractor to right their overturned car, but that is another story. Let’s just say that even if you turn it back over for them you still don’t have the right to request that they not practice their dirt track racing on your road. If you exercise this right you might just find your mailbox used for purposes other than receiving mail.

One Sunday morning as were leisurely finishing breakfast the phone rang. This was one of the few mornings that I didn’t get work calls so I decided to answer it. It was my brother, and after making small talk he suggested I ride down the dirt road to Peavy’s house and see what was happening. It didn’t sound important, but I had the feeling he was holding something back. He wanted my wife and daughter to come too so I really tried to get a reason from him that I could sell to the girls. “Ya’ll just come” was all he would say. As I hung up the phone and tried to think of a good sales pitch to convince them to come with me, the phone rang again. It was once again my brother and all he said was “Oh, and bring your camera”. I didn’t need to sell them any further and we loaded up!

When I pulled up in front of Peavy’s gutted singlewide trailer I found my brother and a couple of his buddies standing in the yard. They all had strange looks on their faces, but it didn’t seem like anything was really wrong. I guess “smirks” on their faces was more like it. “Where’s Peavy?” I asked as they all looked at their feet; nobody wanted to answer. Then I heard this awful growling noise coming out of the open front door of the trailer. It sounded like a cross between a bear and an injured cow. “What the hell was that?” I asked as my brother as he and his friends tried desperately not to laugh. “Sounds like something is killing Peavy!” My brother tossed me a roll of duct tape and said “Go check it out”.

To say that I was just a little scared as I walked in the front door is an understatement; I was terrified! The only walls remaining in the singlewide were the bathroom walls (he had gutted the house so a woodstove would heat everything) and that was where the growling was coming from. As I inched my way forward I could hear Peavy cussing every time the monster growled. “Be still you son-of-a-bitch” was all I could make out, but as scary as the sound was it did sound like Peavy had the upper hand. I poked my head inside the open door halfway expecting something to jump out or drag me in, but Peavy was in the bathtub on the far wall. He was lying down in the tub with a knife in one hand and a 6 ½ foot alligator in the other!

For a minute I thought the alligator was still alive. Every time Peavy would stick him with the knife, the animal would open his mouth and bellow. I now understood that the duct tape I was holding was to keep the alligator from biting him, but I was scared to get any closer! After showing me the bullet holes in the animal’s head and assuring me that he was dead, I could finally manage a laugh. The image of a grow man in a trailer bathtub fearlessly bear hugging a growling alligator is one that I will never forget! It’s as funny now as it was then.

Of course they read me the riot act when I got back outside. Turns out I have the reputation for talking too much and they were convinced that I would let the story of an illegally killed alligator slip out to the wrong person; I held my tongue for years. Sadly all parties involved are now dead and that is the only reason I can now let it out! I don’t condone the killing of protected animals, but I will say that sighting an alligator in this area was not an uncommon event. Oh, and the fried gator tail he produced was delicious!