Its finally here: Bird season. Little Darlin` and I are aching and tired. Paws are chapped and resting on the couch come 2 pm every day. Things couldnt be better.
Opening day was great. Sitting in the truck watching the sun come up. Sipping coffee. That familiar old CRP field I spent so much time on last year. Its just as good. I remember walking half way through it and yelling over to my hunting buddy (my uncle), "theres lots of work to be done here still", as the sun rose even further and burned my eyes. Tired legs didnt seem to matter at that point. It was opening day. No one gets tired on opening day. The excitement is so great for the ones that choose this. Heck, I could barely sleep the night before, even after working till the late hours. Its like Christmas eve. I think you know what I mean.
We both bagged some birds that morning. Early on too. My new shotgun really was worth all of those late hours of work that it took to purchase. Super stoked were the dogs, awaiting this day probably more than the two of us. I remember fidgeting with my wool gloves in the cab of my uncles pickup as the dogs grew anxious. Yelping at times.
Friends, there is NOTHING like walking up a mountain of a CRP hill, seeing your dog on point, so sure, and the flush...BANG: from my Citori`s exploding 6 shot, patterning across the sky. The dog rushes to the dead roosters departure, panting and breath outlined in early morning weather. Getting there. Kicking the shell out of your gun. The dogs look back at you. Its kinetic. That FIRST ROOSTER of the season. That bird, that FIRST bird in your vest, is so motivating and exciting. I know you`ll agree, and only a few folks know about that feeling. Its what we wait for.
"I think we should take another pass at it", I said, legs weary and posting my gun next to the passenger side of my uncles pickup.. At this point the rooster comes back to life for a second kicking in my vest at my back.
Across the road a team of farmers are finishing the harvest. The sound of the combines confirms what time it is. I am happy.
Later on that day I stood over the sink in my house, plucking the birds and respectfully admiring their spurs and feather patterns thinking that one day people wont know what this is like.
Every moment is so important.
Opening day was great. Sitting in the truck watching the sun come up. Sipping coffee. That familiar old CRP field I spent so much time on last year. Its just as good. I remember walking half way through it and yelling over to my hunting buddy (my uncle), "theres lots of work to be done here still", as the sun rose even further and burned my eyes. Tired legs didnt seem to matter at that point. It was opening day. No one gets tired on opening day. The excitement is so great for the ones that choose this. Heck, I could barely sleep the night before, even after working till the late hours. Its like Christmas eve. I think you know what I mean.
We both bagged some birds that morning. Early on too. My new shotgun really was worth all of those late hours of work that it took to purchase. Super stoked were the dogs, awaiting this day probably more than the two of us. I remember fidgeting with my wool gloves in the cab of my uncles pickup as the dogs grew anxious. Yelping at times.
Friends, there is NOTHING like walking up a mountain of a CRP hill, seeing your dog on point, so sure, and the flush...BANG: from my Citori`s exploding 6 shot, patterning across the sky. The dog rushes to the dead roosters departure, panting and breath outlined in early morning weather. Getting there. Kicking the shell out of your gun. The dogs look back at you. Its kinetic. That FIRST ROOSTER of the season. That bird, that FIRST bird in your vest, is so motivating and exciting. I know you`ll agree, and only a few folks know about that feeling. Its what we wait for.
"I think we should take another pass at it", I said, legs weary and posting my gun next to the passenger side of my uncles pickup.. At this point the rooster comes back to life for a second kicking in my vest at my back.
Across the road a team of farmers are finishing the harvest. The sound of the combines confirms what time it is. I am happy.
Later on that day I stood over the sink in my house, plucking the birds and respectfully admiring their spurs and feather patterns thinking that one day people wont know what this is like.
Every moment is so important.
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