Clint Eastwood, one of my heros, had a birthday recently. His strong characters, unappreciated, individualistic, and acting alone, have always appealed to me. I've thought it might be fun to make an anthro out of an Eastwood character in a story with hunting season coming, and incorporate some of the tag lines from a few of his classic "Dirty Harry" movies. -- Here's to you, Clint..."make my day!"
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The hunters converged on their badly wounded prey, reeking of beer and body odor. The deer struggled weakly to get to its feet, but had lost too much blood. Confident of their kill, one hunter spoke to the other.
"Finish it off, Jim-Bob, and let's get back to the truck for a wet one."
Jim-Bob spat tobacco juice into the grass, and began to move his rifle from his shoulder when he was stopped by a dry voice from behind him.
"You don't think that we're just going to let you walk out of here, do you?"
The hunters turned to regard an anthro buck standing on his hind legs, an enormous handgun clenched at his side. There was something in the deer's steely, squinty gaze that was at once riveting and strangely familiar.
"Who's we, you dumb animal?," challenged the first hunter, Billy-Bob.
"Smith, Wesson, and me," cooly replied the buck.
The hunters began to raise their weapons, but the buck moved with incredible speed and great precision, smoothly targeting his opponents. The retort of the magnum echoed in the crisp morning air, sending birds flying from the trees. One slug caught Jim-Bob squarely in the chest, knocking him backwards and to the ground. The other round caught Billy-Bob's weapon, tearing it from his grip. The hunter eyed the rifle on the ground...
"I know what you're thinking," said the buck. "But being that this is a .357 caliber magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and could tear your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question. -- Do you feel lucky? -- Well, do you, PUNK?"
The hunter screamed in rage and went for the rifle. The magnum thundered and reverberated again in the morning air, and then the second hunter also was still.
The buck helped the wounded deer to his feet, and supported him as they began to traverse the way back into the deep forest.
"A man's got to know his limitations," mused the anthro buck known as Dirty Hairy as he disappeared into the mountain mist...
