Malcolm Dykes: The Case of the Missing Keys

When you turn the curve into your 70s like me strange and funny things happen, and just such a one did last Thursday evening after a deer hunt. 

You can't make this stuff up what I am about to tell you. 

I had spent the afternoon on a relative's kindness and his personal stand and even though I hadn't seen a shooter buck it was a pleasant experience watching 6 does meander in and out of the food plot with hopes their boyfriend was close behind. 

It was pleasant until I got down to head for home thinking, better luck next time. 

As I made my way back to my truck about 100 yards away, I reached into my pants pocket for my keys. 

No keys. 

When I got to my truck, I commenced checking all my pockets, emptying them all out that included my insulated outerwear. 

No keys. 

That's when panic set in. 

All I could think was I had laid the keys on the back seat of the truck upon reaching for my rifle where it all lay. 

With the aid of my green tinted flashlight (tinted so as not to spook the deer upon use) I tried peering over into the seat but there were other garments covering the seat so I couldn't really tell for sure. 

So, I retraced my steps very slowly along the path through the woods to the deer stand just to see if they had fallen out of my pocket. 

No keys. 

I climbed the steps back up and checked in the stand. 

No keys. 

So now I have a decision to make. 

Do I call my nephew Pastor Jerry Dillon who is at a banquet for the newly elected Attorney General where he is to pray over the new A G to come to my rescue and or recommend a locksmith to come bail me out if indeed I had locked myself out? 

Do I call my wife 110 miles away and have her and my daughter bring me her set of keys that have the truck key on it? 

I'm pondering all of this as I try to make my way back to the truck along the dimly made path and in doing so, I get disoriented and go wandering in those piney woods like Moses and Israel in the wilderness. 

If I was not in enough trouble with no keys, I would add to my sorrow by getting lost and now I'm wet with sweat from all my cold gear on trying to get back to my truck taking the scenic route! 

Thankfully, I wander in a big circle and come back to the deer stand so I can once again start out on the tiny trail back. 

As I near the truck once again, I remember I had stopped upon entering the woods going in to hunt and opened a new aerosol can of doe urine so I could spray the bushes on the way to the stand. 

I had to use the truck key to break the seal on the can so I could confirm to myself the keys were not in the truck after all as I had been assuming. 

Rather, I began to hope that I had absent mindedly left my keys on the ground where I had knelt to open the can.  

So, I set out with my green tinted flashlight looking very carefully along the path to find that seal tape and when I find it my hopes fade for there are no keys lying on the ground. 

It's then it dawns on me to pull my insulated cover all leg up and wonder of wonders, my keys fall out onto the ground. 

I wanted to sing the Hallelujah Chorus or even go into stammering lips rejoicing! 

All this time my keys were safely stuck between my trouser legging and my insulated overall legging on top of my hunting boot made secure by the zipper and strap snapped tight! 

I had missed my trouser pocket in my haste of getting to the stand and they had fallen down between the pants and the insulates. 

I had spent about half an hour in full blown panic. 

There are no words to describe the euphoria and relief that swept over me seeing that set of keys on the ground in that green tinted light! 

HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH, HALLELUJAH!! 

The case of the missing keys. 

God bless you and God bless America.