Boudreaux was catching fish when nobody else in the bayou could catch a cold.
The game warden, a fella named Fontenot, came to visit Boudreaux.
They chat it up a bit and Boudreaux agrees to take Fontenot fishing the next morning.
They arrive at the bayou bright and early the next day and unload the boat
Boudreaux navigates out to his fishing hole and reaches under his seat for a cigar box.
He pulls out a stick of dynamite and crimps a cap on the end, Fontenot sees this and jumps up.
Boudreaux, you can't be doing that, it's against the law. Boudreaux calmly lights the fuse and hands it to Fontenot.
Fontenot, he says, are we gonna talk or are we gonna fish?
Boudreaux was sitting on his porch bragging about his best hunting dog.
This dog can pick up a quail a mile away, Boudreaux claimed. A small boy was walking down the street and all of a sudden, the dog goes into full point.
Everybody starts laughing, Boudreaux that dog ain't worth a dang.
Boudreaux scratches his head for a moment and calles the lad over.
Son, you got a bird in your front pocket?
No sir.
You got a bird in your back pocket?
No sir.
Boudreaux scratches his head some more, his dog is never wrong.
Son, what's your name?
Bob, the lad replies.
What's your last name?
White, the lad replies.