I’m not sure if I even went dove hunting last year. I used to go all the time during the season, but it
is just harder these days for me to drag myself out in the country...in the heat...in the mosquitoes,
red ants, wasps and gnats....in the snakes, etc.
It never bothered me much before, but that was back when a bunch of my buddies were still
around, and we’d all go. You know misery loves company!
Now most of my old hunting buddies have moved out of town. Birdwell is now in Monahans, Bird
is in Bangs, Skelton is in Willow Park, and Flynn is in Southlake. Every once in a while, I’ll get a
call from one of them asking if I want to go out on a hunt....but not that often anymore because
they don’t get to come down all that much.
I’m not missing that much because I’m not now, and never have been a very good shot. I’ve had
my days where I was as “hot” as anyone with my old trusty Remington 870, but those days were
few and far between. Still, I don’t mind “popping a few caps” at birds. Of course, two birds per box
of shells makes for pretty expensive meat.
What I do miss is the getting together with your best buddies and having a good time. Seeing who
would get bragging rights for the most birds, the most birds per shots fired, the best shot of the
day, and the stupidest stunt of the day (I usually won this one).
I miss taking my son out when he was a kid, and showing him the ropes. I don’t know if he has
turned into a decent bird hunter, but I know he didn’t have much of a teacher. His best shot was
generally red ant beds....I had to learn to move my feet in a moment’s notice.
He even went with me when he was too young to hold a shotgun. He would sit there and watch
nature, and ask me 4,000 questions of which I might could answer 3.
But one thing I did actually amazed him. He would take his old Daisy BB gun out to Gouldbusk
with me, and he’d shoot trees, dirt, sky....stuff that’s pretty hard to miss. One day when the hunting
was awfully slow, I took his BB gun and started shooting at bugs that landed on the weeds out in
front of us. After about three shots, I got where I could hit those rascals from about six feet almost
every time.
Now why was it that I had a good eye for bugs with a BB gun, but couldn’t hit the side of a barn
with a shotgun?
To show you how “good” I am, I will relate one of the late Freddie White’s favorite hunting tales
about me. One day Mom, Dad, Freddie and I were hunting at Otis Powers’ place south of
Coleman. We had just arrived and were in the process of finding ourselves good spots around the
main tank. As I was headed toward a nice location, Freddie yelled at me to get down as two dove
landed in the tree right beside me. I had to literally back away about ten steps or I would’ve
knocked the bird off his perch with my gun barrel.
Anyway, I backed off as quietly and far as I thought prudent, before I raised my gun. One bird
flew, but the other stayed on his perch. I aimed my shotgun (which was longer than I was tall...I
was only about 9 or 10), and fired. Freddie fell over laughing, Mother turned three shades of red
trying not to burst out laughing. Thank goodness Dad was on the other side of the tank. It seems
that from about 15 feet away, I could only manage to blow the dove’s “butt” off. The poor thing
didn’t have a tail, or the lower part of his body, but he could still kinda fly. I don’t think he bled to
death, I think he died of embarrassment.
Maybe redemption is around the corner. My son informed me a couple of weeks ago that he was
coming down from Austin in September to do some dove hunting. If old Dad is invited maybe my
accuracy will have improved, and I can amaze him with my shotgun prowess. If not I guess I can
practice my dancing steps as he shoots up the red ant beds.
|
|
