My dad, dear ol` dad, used to head to Nevada every year for mulies. I'm not sure why he went, because he never brought back anything, except one time. I was about 8, and he brought back a cow skull. I'd never seen one before, since the FDA didn't permit livestock on a prune ranch that processed it's own fruit. When I asked what this gnarly skull with the huge teeth was, he says "oh, that's a 'garoofer', and it lives under your bed". Gee, thanks dad, scared the living squat out of me, and for several years after, I decided the risk of encountering a "garoofer" under my bed outweighed the need to get a drink of water, or anything more pressing for that matter!