Flamingo Rides Again

By The Hillbilly Dude | Updated October 27, 2025

Flamingo.

If there was somethin’ that was gonna happen to somebody, that somebody would always be Flamingo.

He got hit by a car while he was ridin' on his bicycle. Bike looked like a pretzel. He was fine. He was in the back of a truck, and that truck hit a guardrail - the same $1,500 guardrail Bubba had to buy we he hit it - and the truck flipped. He was fine.

One time we was all swimmin’ at the lake, havin’ a big time. He showed up, jumped in, and immediately got bit by a snappin’ turtle. He was fine.

Pool ol’ Flamingo.

Well this time we’s campin’ in the deep dark wood in Western North Carolina (the same place I found that big mess of foxfire). We had hiked up a long, rocky mountain trail to a swimmin’ hole in the branch.

But this swimmin’ hole had big ol’ water fall, with a big ol’ giant rock that everbody was jumpin’ from, right into the pool just below the falls. I say "everbody", but that didn’t include me. I was always more of a "water up to my ankles" kind of feller. And they ain’t no way I’m jumpin’ off no rock noway.

But I sat there nearby and watched them all enjoy. Teevee jumped in. Then Fancy Boy. Don Juan. I think even Pedals was there, jumpin’ off that rock with ‘em.

And then there was Flamingo.

Now if I was Flamingo, I’d be takin’ a very long break from any risk whatsoever. He’d had a good run, but - statistically - yet another risk was a bad idea. But he was in line, so he jumped, too.

Over and over and over they jumped. And everthang was copasetic - nobody got hurt, not even Flamingo. He was fine.

After all those jumps, everbody was pretty exhausted. It was time to start puttin’ shoes back on and headin’ back down that mountain.

While I was just lollygaggin’, waitin’ for everybody to be ready to roll, I heard a high voice talkin’. It was one of those sweet voices, like somebody was talkin’ to a baby or a kitten.

"C’mon little buddy. Come here. It’s okay."

I casually look around to see what was happenin’.

It was Flamingo makin’ that high voice.

He was squatted down, with one hand out in front of him. And about 18 inches from the end of that hand, I could see what he was sweet-talkin’.

A tiny. Baby. Black. BEAR CUB.

Well I wasted no time. I took off runnin’ down that trail like Forrest Gump. Where they’s a baby bear, they’s a momma bear. And - since none of those boys had ever seen me run before (because I hadn’t) - they immediately joined in.

We ran a mile back down that hill, probly breakin’ records all along the way.

Makin’ sure all was accounted for at the bottom of that trail, I was actually a little surprised.

Flamingo was standin’ there with us. He was fine.