Crocogator

Crocogator

Crocogator

Way down there in Tate’s Hell swamp, things are pretty peculiar.  Plants and animals go to getting mixed up as to what they are. Why you’re liable to see a goldenrod blooming pure red, or a coonpossum, or a blue-winged crow. Reckon it’s from them living in there so close for so long.

The most dangerous thing you have to watch out for in that swamp is the crocogator. They’re meaner than a moccasin in spring, and hungrier than a bear in fall. There’s talk about a man who tried to catch one, one time. He went in there with a bunch of dogs. Had him a gun and a big net. He figured on making some money selling one to a zoo. He had no idea how big those crocogators were!

He brought along a lantern and figured on hunting one just like he did a regular gator. Now, anybody going into that swamp at night is asking for trouble. He got out there right after sundown and set the dogs aloose. But those dogs were smart hounds. They got out, sniffed the air, and jumped back in the truck. Well, this made him madder than ever. He’d set out to get him a crocogator and that’s what he was going to do - dogs or no dogs!

He walked a ways and came down close to a large stream. He had his snake boots on and some bug spray in his pocket. Then, he went to shining that light. Pretty soon, he saw some eyes. They got close and closer. He got his net ready. By the time he realized the size of that critter, it was only a few feet from him in the water. It’s head was about two yards across. It’s body was about the length of an oyster boat - a third of it mouth and a third of it tail! About that time, he began to get smart, too. 

He lit out for the truck. Well, that crocogator came after him. He could hear it closing in behind him. Then, he tripped over a log and fell. He thought about his gun, but there wasn’t time. The only thing that came to mind was the bug spray.

He pulled that can out of his pocket and began to spray. He aimed for the eyes, trying to blind it. Then, that ole crocogator went to sneezing and choking and blinking.

When it began to roll and thrash around in the bushes, trying to rub the bug spray off, that feller got up and started running. By this time it was real dark and he couldn’t find his light. The only thing that got him back to the truck was the dogs barking - he just followed the sound.

When he got into Eastpoint, he went straight home. His kinfolks came over there the next morning hoping to see a real live crocogator tied up on his back porch. Instead, they found him sitting in a chair, looking miserable. “Where’s the crocogator?” one of them asked.

“Crocogator?” he replied, “Ain’t no such thing as a crocogator!”