Bigfoot Forward

Two hundred kilometers northeast of Saskatoon, I set my turboprop down on the tundra. I had come to take part in a poker game with some high rolling natives of the region, and I found the game soon enough. It went on in earnest for two days and then things got serious. I was racking up my share, but I was looking for the cards to nudge out the man I saw as my biggest threat, Running Fox.
I was dealt three sixes and bet half of what I'd won. They all dropped - all, that is, but Running Fox, who called and stood pat. I drew two and bet it all, having drawn the fourth six. I knew Running Fox didn't have enough on the table to cover the bet. He threw this photo into the pot.
"What the Sam Hill is that?" I asked.
"Bigfoot," said Running Fox.
"Bigfoot?" My jaw dropped. "You mean, you possess a Bigfoot?" He nodded. "A living Bigfoot?" He nodded again, stoically. "Well," I said, "this I have to see. I'll except Bigfoot as your call." I prayed he didn't have a straight flush.
"Read and weep. Full house, kingss high."
"Not good enough, Foxy. Four sixes."
And that's the story of the sasquatch I won in Saskatchewan.