That 400 acre WMA was my Dad’s favorite pheasant hunting spot, and I have been hunting it for 50 years or so, the last 15 without my Dad. Early on in the game, I just tagged along with dad, when I was 12 or 13, he started letting me carry his Beretta Silver Snipe. We were cutting across a field that had patches of red dogwood and bluestem, and some other type of grass that was difficult to walk through. About midway through, with maybe 100 yards between dad and me, and the dog working between us, I decided to take a leak. I was about halfway through when a rooster flushed right at the edge of the steamy spot I was creating on the ground. I watched him fly off without so much as a salute in his direction, so, not technically a miss, but, dad wanted to know when we met up why I hadn’t taken a poke at him.
I told him he wouldn’t believe me.
Later, sitting in his 1964 Ninety Eight Custom Sports Coupe (google it) having a sandwich and a cup of coffee while the 394 motor made some heat for us at idle, I did tell him, and we had a laugh.
He laughed longer than I did.
Best,
Ted
