Sunday, January 26, 2014

nI’ve not figured out yet why hunters think the crack of dawn is the proper time to tramp through the brush to go hunting.

About every bit of game I’ve ever harvested has been between ten and four.

Which is a cheap way of introducing the idea that yesterday about ten we harvested four Canadians. Big geese, these. Grain fed.

Just after the celebratory sip of bonded, Renter demanded to know, again, for the umpteenth time when I intended to harvest some of his tree rats down the creek bed.

I suppose I’d better get down there, I have been promising.

And I suppose I’d better get busy cleaning the geese for the freezer – Oh, by the way, the hunt was all of a hundred yards from my back door. We hunted Renters farm corn field. He has a pond behind the barn where the geese water after feeding in the dark hours before dawn. We wait for them to come in to water after feeding.

The corn field is quite large, the pond are small in comparison. It’s all the excitement the other hunters seem necessary to generate that tires one out and then the endless discussion after.

I never realize how exciting it is to sit still in a blind for four hours can be, that it takes four hours after to discuss it.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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