Catfish

Sometimes I hate to admit it...but I was born in Paducah, Kentucky. February 27, 1953. Riverside Hospital.

You have to cross the big bridge in Cincinnati, Ohio, to be able to proudly call yourself a hillbilly. A southern boy. A hill topper. A hick.

You also have to be able to eat a little catfish. Like at an all-you-can-eat catfish place. My family went to one once called Bubba and Coys. Would normal people go to a restaurant named Bubbas? Catfish, hush puppies, chicken, and fries. What more do you need? Wellll....you do need one more thing...SWEET TEA served in a Ball or a Mason jar. YUMMY!

As much as I like to eat it...I'm not too crazy about catching it. Forget catching it...I don't even like to look at it! Possibly the ugliest animal or fish to be found.

People ask me if I ever watch the show Hillbilly Handfishin. I can't watch it. The idea of reaching down into the muck and having a huge fish clamp onto your arm gives me the chills. Big and ugly. NO THANKS!!

On my flickr page, I put on another big mouth fish, a 25 pack of turtles, and a hanging adorable squirrel.

Click on LARGE to see some catfish whiskers. Makes me want to take up fishing. (As long as someone else will bait my hook, and take it off the hook.)

The catfish were in one on the nature ponds at the hospital where I take my doctor.