I will no longer be dumping cleaned dove carcasses in the latrine pit. This feller had ingested and passed one from one placed in the pit opening day. Day two I was getting ready to lean down and put more in. I saw him just before leaning over, and just before he sounded. First time I had one sound off. Not something I wanna get used to. Was carrying a new to me .40 cal, and had not yet picked up rat shot for it. Hornady self defense rounds are expensive, but seemed appropriate (especially when that's what's in the gun).

Stan, google Knox City Tx. We are just West of there on the Brazos River. Storms came through last night and this morning was just lovely.

As to the strangeness of my hunt: the scrub in the field is really thick, as our farmer decided to stop farming, and the field lie fallow this year. One thing it did for me was to allow me to get to within 15 yards of two that landed in the field- closest I've ever been. Was beginning to wonder if I had not marked them well. They got up together, and I killed the first one; the second one disappeared against the foliage behind him, but when he cleared the tree line I dumped him too. About an hour later, three seemed to come out of nowhere, and landed three yards from one of the Mojos. Ha! Rinse and repeat. Walked carefully up to where they landed- nothing. Circled around and around in bigger arcs until I was convinced a black hole had swallowed them. Just then I saw a dove fly out from the edge of the scrub next to the two track. Never seen dove run like a pheasant- at least not that far. Guess I don't get out enough.

As to birds that don't know they're dead (another similarity to longtails), I had a quartering incomer heading directly for me. A bird heading directly to me or directly away is my one shot I often miss. I was a little low with the right barrel, and he was stunned, starting to flair. I absolutely crushed him with the left barrel, at only about 15 yards. Dropped like a stone, hitting top dead center of a 6" diameter fence post with an audible thud, bouncing off to land on the ground next to the fence. I walked the forty five feet from my dove stool to find- nothing. Not even a feather. I literally walked back to the stool after several minutes of searching, shaking my head with my mouth open in disbelief. This hunt was the "Day of the disappearing Dove."

Tolerance: the abolition of absolutes

Consistency is the currency of credibility