The Cost of a Good Meal

We just returned from a weekend of pheasant hunting. We have enough birds for one meal. So, let's add this trip up.

• $110 non resident SD Small Game license
• $75 in fuel
• $50 Motel (Jake was so happy that we finally got to stay in a "M"otel instead of a "H"otel!)
• $80 for shells and what I will classify as hunting food from Fleet Farm
• $100 for dinner (treated the guy who let me hunt on his land) - at least he bought my 15 captain morgan's after dinner....like I needed THAT!
• $35 breakfast today

That adds up to $450.00! 3 birds makes it $150 a bird. I could have gone to a game farm 10 miles away and bought 56 pheasants all cleaned with no lead in them and frozen for that much money!

Obviously, this is worth so much more. Seeing Dozer (old man Black Lab) possibly on his last hunt. His hips are shot. If not for drugging him with doggie asprin and other hip stuff, he'd not be able to walk. BUT - he did hunt 1/2 of both days. Good for him. He was so happy out there.

Plus, this was Indy's first hunt. By the end of Saturday, he was completely off of the check cord and we never used the shock collar. He totally responded to the whistle which was new for me to try vs. the shock collar. He was completely in his element and instincts took over. For a 6 month old dog, he did wonderfully.

Add in that Jake got to ride in a combine with a 35' head that was picking beans and see how it all works. He was even in there when they did a moving dump into the hopper being pulled next to the combine. Then, later he was able to ride in the other big tractor that pulled the hopper and he got to DRIVE that. He said it was the most awesome thing EVER!

Now as I lick my own wounds from walking through the long grasses, falling over clumps of dirt and running in boots after partially dead pheasants, it is fun to look back on the fun we had as a family this weekend. Very cool. Even if it was $450!

Know The Enemy

On a day where I sat yet again waiting so patiently for the opportunity to create that anticipated steaming gutpile, my Vikings went to Green Bay.

Shall I say that despite only seeing one deer small enough to do a fireman's carry on that I was thankful for the hunting outlet so I was not forced to watch the whole game?

But, Ye Shall Know Thy Enemy!

The enemy takes several shapes:

1. Brother in Law (his career trains him to look convincing)
2. Nephew (don't let his smile fool you!)
3. Top Dog of Systems at Metlife (she'll woo you by referring to you as 'BigSexy')

While this is not a comprehensive list, these three are evil. They really are not one of them. They do not go to Green Bay proudly wearing blaze orange. They are not from the woods. They come wearing their Nike and Starter wear. Jerzees bought in a mall. City Folk. But I digress....

As I sit, patiently awaiting the snort of a 12 point buck or the bellar of a hot-in-heat doe, my cell phone buzzes.

Hmmm, what could it be? A text message?

Yes, they catch you no matter where you are, no matter the activity you are doing.

Oh yes, to people resistant to the technology world we live in I have said,

"Kicking and screaming is no way to enter the 21st century!".

Now I am the one kicking and screaming. Wishing I did not have such technology available to me while hunting. While in the woods. Way up north. While climbed half way up a damn tree. Freezing my butt off.

To my enemy, I hereby declare this:

I shall not waiver. I will always be true. True to my Purple. You can take your swampwater-wrinkled, mosquito larve eatin', grit guzzlin', AARP qualified quartback. Go cry with him. Go practice faking injury to get a roughing call. Take him back to the swamps of home and leave him there where he first superglued his upper lip to his teeth (watch the boy try to talk once).

A new day is coming. Once again, Green Bay will suck. Order shall be restored in what was once the NFC Norris/Black and Blue Division of the NFL.

Purple Pride

Oh, yeah....fire Childress now please.