- Christiane's first dove hunt, in the shade with Cris in the 'hot' corner;
- Jay and Kathy, unfettered by obligations and savoring retirement time;
- Larry's first dove hunt in years, 196 days and a wake-up to retirement;
- Bill and Greg with the human retrievers Robert and Tyler;
- Neighbor Brian with daughter Courtney and trusty Buttercup;
- Ed from church;
- Kurt, Dad and I representing our clan;
- Croc and Flip doing better than average for an opener.
The birds were slow; Colemans' started chopping corn. Dunno, maybe that pulled the birds some. Everybody got some shooting; we cleaned and grilled maybe thirty birds. We'll rest the field and try again Saturday if the storms allow. Missed Will and his boys.....they'll be along Saturday.
3 comments:
I never saw them coming.
As usual, everyone arrived four hours before the birds started flying. After some socializing among folks who sometimes don't see each other but once a year, we headed out to the field - two hours before the doves began to fly.
Since it was Labor Day, and hot, and I'm getting old, I figured I rated a little snooze in the field under the shade of two oak trees. Gunfire would wake me when I needed to be up.
This shady spot was especially nice, because there were enough tall weeds and grass to make myself a comfortable little nest. The cool breeze and dappled shade was perfect. Bucolic. Resplendent.
Dunno how long I drifted off, but the alarm of gunfire brought me back into the hunt, and we proceeded to scare the bejesus out of a few birds that happened to fly by.
Later that evening… sitting on the porch, I had a little itch. Down there. Dad says, “Ticks really like biting where it's dark and warm.”
No problem. I'll check myself over when I get home. But on the way back, somewhere near Massannutten, my ankles get to itching. And itching. Off comes my boot. Then a sock. Little pimply bites, festering, oozing, swelling, as the chiggers' venom begins to liquefy my flesh, just below the skin, just enough to shift my itch-nerves into override.
After this morning's shower, I inspected the overall damage, head to toe. Stopped counting somewhere after sixty bites.
Lisa and the girls are getting bites, too, because last week our godforsaken pound hound apparently imported fleas to the house. I'll be off to the hardware store tonight for some bug bombs. In this case, war is the answer.
Moral of the story: Next time, bring a hammock.
K.S.
Harrisonburg
........have you got plenty of fingernail polish? Blazing fuschia works best. Good luck.
jts
BTW, I told you week before last I had the answer to that whole 'chili con carne dog' problemo. Yer on yer own now compadre.
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