Back in about 1930, my Dad's "Ungle Bug" lived on a ranch out in New Mexico. At the time, it was a 1/2 day drive to any town, let alone a hospital, if you had a car which they didn;t. Well, Uncle Bug was repairing a sadle one day, working to poke a hole in a styup with an awl. He slipped and stabbed a testicle. It got all infected, so a few days later he sharpened his pocket knife, slit open his sack, and cut that testicle off! They say he about bled out.
Good God! I come from some tough stock.
Dad said he never saw Uncle Bug wear anything but coveralls. When he died, they bought him a new pair to be burried in.
That story was told many times around camp fires and such. They whole family knew the story of Uncle Bug.
When I die, I'll look for the old guy in the "Tough Sumbitches" section just inside the pearly gates. I believe he likely lives in the big mansion on the end the street.
