Mike's little walks invariably turn into a journada del muerto* for most mortal men and dogs. He'll suggest a short stroll around a windmill in a pature corner and six hours later, with a glazed expression in his eyes, he'll be apologizing for the "walk" being a little longer than he expected and for being lost half of the time. And he has no qualms dragging a 70 year old man through this hell. Only two days ago, as I drug myself back to the car whimpering incoherent moans, he compassionately commented, "I don't know why I hunted over there, the birds are always in the corner". Not more'n hundred yards from the truck! But we did get our exercise. Course I had to carry one of his dogs back that had passed out from heat exhaustion. Oh yes.....we didn't even see a single bird on that trip. I carried the perfect gun for this little walk: a 16 gauge hammer single shot at 4 1/2 pounds. Only thing it was used for was a crutch. Damned! but I love bird hunting....and Chinese water torture....and....hitting my thumb with a hammer....and....!
* For you yankees, that means "journey of death".
