George, Nick and I, occasionally others, used to hunt weekly. At some point George always had to go to the bathroom; always! It didn't matter, indoors or out, woods, fields, over downed trees, from tree stands, in the bushes, behind bushes, once in an old vehicle, diners, truck stops. It could be winter, summer, spring or fall - 100 degrees or well below zero. We started thinking that maybe his wife didn't let him go at home. If you were ever around when he went you'd understand.
One fall morning I walked out of the woods to see George sitting on a toilet in the middle of the field. His pants were down around his ankles, his shot gun across his lap, all he needed was a magazine. Only he would find an abandoned toilet with a seat! Naturally, being George, he produced a roll of tp from his hunting vest. We just laughed.
George owned a Brittany Spaniel named Bernie. He was a great hunting dog and we took him every where we hunted. Once we went upland hunting for woodcocks near Saranac Lake. Nick rode both ways in the back seat with Bernie sleeping on his lap. George worked at the local Buick dealership, so we always had a big car. Bernie slept all the way up and back.
Unfortunately for Nick the dog was wet and smelled like only a wet dog can smell. Some where around Chestertown, Bernie started to fart. Not to be out done George followed soon after. Farting, after a while, eventually becomes like yawning, every one starts. Nick opened windows and tried mouth breathing before begging George to stop the car. We took fresh air breaks in Lake George and Clifton Park.
Nick did a comedy routine about a guy test driving the car on Monday and another about George teaching Bernie to fart. "What happened to the blind skunk? She fell in love with Bernie." Then he started naming farts = ass-sparagus, bench warmer, air biscuit, barked beans, Mexican barking spider, cheeser, colon quack, gassius assius, mud cricket, tree frog and thunder down under are the ones I remember.
It was one fun trip, a total sensory experience.