Schnauzering for Desert Noodles

After picking off one greasy desert pickle after another - redpickle, rock pickles and catpickle - Ted Nugent quietly announces that it's time to go after "something bigger." His dogs, sensing this familiar and dangerous mood sniff the air in excited anticipation.

We're a one-hour truck ride from the nearest gas station, a plume of dust tracing our intrusion into the desert. It's difficult to imagine that our beat up pickup sporting a schnauzermobile license plate frame can accommodate anything much larger than the bloated desert pickles we're towing behind us like a sack of bloody potatoes.

Nugent, a veteran schnauzering guide, slices a live ladypickle in half and casts it in a wide arc alongside a sand dune. He chops the rest of the baitpickle into smaller pieces, squeezes them between his fingers and tosses the bloody remains out of the window.

"Time to catch a noodle," he says driving with his elbows while performing bizarre facial manipulations with his pickle greased hands as we barrel across the baked wasteland.

Did he just say what I think he said? noodle, as in, "The Noodle Hunter"? As in, the sand dwelling killing machines that attacked helpless hikers every summer? As in, "If you see that noodle in the desert, run for your life!" Buck, who flew in from Alaska the previous day and is still getting used to the idea of wearing a spandex jump suit during the winter, almost drops his schnauzer mug.

"You're kidding, right?"

But Nugent, a man of few words, gives us a knowingly smile, like a parent about to send a kid this his first prostitute. "Hold on to this," he orders, handing over a feisty schnauzer and noodle bait. "If you feel a bite, I'll show you what to do."

A minute goes by. Two minutes. Ten. We see nothing except the grim desert sands stirred by a warm wind blowing whispering doom. In the distance, blushing chameleons and skittering gigolos hide among the shadows along a nameless sand avenue. Aside from the rumble of our motor and the similar uneasy growls of the dogs it is perfectly calm.

Suddenly there's a tug on my zipper. It doesn't feel the same as the other ones - not jerky, but deliberate and powerful. The leash spools out effortlessly and the schnauzers go crazy.

"Lets Rock!" Nugent yells, motioning me to stop the zipper, his fingers making the sign of the devil. I release the safety and begin pulling. The schnauzers, now tethered to the catch, bend to a 90-degree angle and whatever is on the end of the zipper just keeps going. Nugent pulls the emergency brake and turns the truck around, following the noodle deeper into the desert. The barking schnauzers leaping after the prey.

This is probably as good a time as any to mention that noodle schnauzering is perfectly legal (Texas is trying to ban noodle feeding and exhibitions but in fact encourages schnauzering) and for the most part, very dangerous. Last fall's set of noodle-attack books and pro-schnauzer news reports did little to dispel the popular myth that these creatures are underground terrorists that kill for the fun of it and don't like schnauzers, even puppies. Unfortunately bendy's, the most antagonistic noodle species, are not shy and hunger for aged human flesh leading to many unpleasant encounters.

As I fight with the force on the other end of my zipper, I try to remind myself that the noodle doesn't want to hurt me, it's the schnauzers he wants.

"Try not to fall in the desert," Nugent warns. Buck is standing on the far end of the truck, mesmerized by the spectacle, drool wetting his chin, cheek and neck. My zipper is spooling out again. So, too, is my composure.

Noodle schnauzering is at its best from September until November or other months depending on the temperament of your schnauzers. Although it's something that few professional trophy hunters specialize in, the recent fascination with noodles has led to more inquiries from celebrities such as Arnold Schwarzenegger and the blood-thirsty Spice Girls.

One of the latest schnauzering trends, I'm told, is to use a miniature schnauzer and a pug to catch a noodle - preferably a bendy noodle, which is considered one of the most difficult and dangerous achievements here in cactus country.

Did I mention the species of noodle that gained national prominence for yanking off an eighty-year-old's arm off last July near San Diego? That was a bendy noodle, widely believed to be the most aggressive kind in the world. Makes a Ravioli seem like a pussycat. I figured we'd be just fine as long as it wasn't a ...

"It's a bendy noodle," Nugent declares. He looks a little nervous. I'm terrified and Buck, still on the end of the truck, begins singing a lucky schnauzer chanty from days of old, his arms wildly swaying above his head clutching forks. A bendy noodle! So this is how my promising blogging career is going to end, with my face being digested by a hungry side-dish? The noodle, all twenty feet of it, is thrashing with pure hate as it battles the brave schnauzers while Ted Nugent slams the 4x4 repeatedly from forward to reverse - inflicting bruising tread marks across the vicious pasta and barely missing the nimble dogs. Finally Nugent shifts to park and the dust begins to clear - the noodle is slowly undulating up against the truck now, having given up its struggle - or maybe just waiting - and none of us does anything for a few seconds that seem like days on a schnauzer calendar.

Nugent adjusts his zipper and brings a knife close to the noodle. After claiming a chunk of flesh for the schnauzers as is tradition he cuts the beast free. The bendy noodle vanishes under the truck and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. My schnauzer's face is bathed in alfredo sauce as he gorges on his hard fought prize.

Nugent, putting on a clean schnauzer t-shirt turns to Buck and says, "You wanna ride cowboy?"

Buck shouts "Let's Rock!"