A Reptilian Thirst

For some reason where most of us would intuitively go to great lengths to hide some stories from our past, my father relished in the re-telling of stories that did defamation to his character and judgement. Better himself than others he would regale, and this is just one of those stories.

The weekend furlough seeped its way to the base at which my father was stationed in Louisiana. A full 48 hours off.
Promptly a houseboat was reserved and the festivities got under way deep bayou country.

Being the worldly men that they were, the gentlemen on board decided to try their hand at the local sport of frogging. Unsuspecting (I'm sure), much alcohol was consumed for the event that takes place late in the darkest hours of the back country.

Not really sure how they did, or even if they caught any, the inebriated crew was forced into the decision of going to bed-we also call it passing out.

Late in the night, a disoriented father awakens with what feels like a wool factory in full operation going on in his mouth. He needs water, and fast. But where was he? Slowly it starts to come back to him. A boat, oh yes a houseboat, in Louisiana, oh yes, furlough. And the water is...on the deck, oh yes in the cooler.
He stumbles past the cast bodies of his comrades and finds the cooler where much of the ice had melted. Lifts the lid and dunks his cup to full from the icy runoff. Brilliant. A thirst is quenched and off to bed a happy man goes minus the sweater in his mouth, but not before a re-fill to take back to bed.
In the morning he awakens to a half full glass bedside of the brightest red water one have ever seen, and again he begins to piece together the night.

He remembers that he and the boys actually did very well for their first time frogging, and after gutting them tossed them all haphazardly into the cooler on the deck.

OH SHIT!

He rips the lid open and confirms his fear. The Ice runoff that so recently provided much quenching was tainted with froggy guts and blood-no fresh water in site.

And to my dad, who could have swept that story under the rug and never mentioned it again, just couldn't wait to tell and re-tell that story for 25 years to come.

Why?