A Hunting We Will Go.

Jake is not a hunter usually, but I was working at his computer last week and found a copy of a freshly printed hunting license. Hmmm. I sensed a new experience on the horizon. Jake even went out and bought a "work coat" because he doesn't have any stuff that can really get dirty in, like if you were say, out hunting.

So, in 32 years I have never been hunting. I have occasionally shot a gun at a tin can (and totally missed) but have never piled into the family truckster and headed out into the great wide open to try to explode nature's creations. Not until yesterday.

I really didn't get a lot of instruction as to how the whole thing worked,and I sure didn't ask a lot of questions. People had guns, and I assumed my only job was to stay out of the way. I also assumed the process would work like a well oiled machine with each person knowing exactly where they should be placed and their role in the activity. I should have asked more questions before the truck rolled to a stop and we all jumped out like we were chasing down a loose ten dollar bill blowing down the street. I didn't expect that. I thought we would wander up and down a field in a line and it would be pretty boring. Apparently though, Jake's dad and his buddy have it down to a science. They don't want to do a bunch of walking, they just want to jump out of the truck and shoot some birds.

So here is a shortened version of the rest of the events:

1. Sometimes there is no good spot to stand. Jake's sister Kelli is my hero. Her one good shot of the day was when a bird flew over my head as I was lying on the ground in a ball at the first place we stopped. She didn't take it. Therefore I am still speaking with her.

2. Something that is black and white and wiggly in the underbrush isn't always a skunk. A pheasant's neck ring is also black and white, and they wiggle around a bunch in the underbrush if they are kind of shot. What you shouldn't do is run the opposite direction screaming "skunk" at the top of your lungs. At that point I received the very important information that you have to chase down the birds after you shoot them super fast as they are quite the runners and it is inhumane if they are allowed to escape when they are wounded. I decided I could get on board with that train of thought.

3. About that train of thought. I was sitting in the truck at the last spot, messing around with my phone when I heard some serious gun fire. I look up just in time to see a bird go down 50 feet from the car in the higher grass. I thought about just pretending that I didn't see anything, but then I thought that Jake's dad would be disappointed in me if I didn't take his information seriously. So I run up the side of the brush, not planning to see anything, and then I stumble upon the bird that is supposed to be dead. But it isn't. It's trying to run away. Crap. Well, here we go. I do what any wildlife loving person would do, and I stand on it's head with my boot. So I am screaming obscenities, the pheasant is flapping it's wings, and then I fell over into some sort of bush full of stickers. At that point, the guy that shot the bird finally made it over to deliver the death blow to the pheasant.

So then we headed in with a bunch of birds(15 total)and we take the "hunting picture". I had never looked closely at a pheasant before that day. They are absolutely beautiful birds. The colors and patterns of each feather are unique and intricate, and would be difficult to reproduce accurately by even the world's bests artists. I was not expecting them to be so impressive. Let's face it, the only bird I have seen up close is a chicken, and they are nasty.

We now have pheasant for our freezer and will have to figure out what to do with it...