Just to get you ready for tomorrow, simnetpratt, let me regale you--and interested others--with a funny hunting story that happened to me when I was about 13. My elder brother, Jim, and I were going small game hunting; he was armed with something that could knock down a moose, and I, being a kid, had a .22 single shot bolt action.
We walked to the hunting property and split up. As I entered the woods, I saw a big bird pecking around in the shadows by a ditch. So I shot it. One bullet and it dropped. I didn't know what it was. I walked back to where my brother and I split up and saw him waiting for me. He hadn't gotten so much as a squirrel. Then I showed him my big bird, and his jaw dropped. I had bagged a large partridge. Grumbling about beginners's luck--my brother didn't like me much--we walked back to the lodge and had lunch, and prepared to go out again. Jim was not going to be outdone by his brat little brother, and he was determined to get a partridge. So we split up again exactly like before, and again as I entered the woods I saw another big partridge on a tree stump. I shot it. One shot and it dropped. This time I walked back with the bird behind my back where I met my brother--who was still empty handed--and asked him, "What was that you said about beginner's luck?" Then I pulled out the second partridge. He was furious. His face turned five shades of red while he mumbled, "Not possible. No one has that kind of luck!" That evening he went out again to hunt but didn't shoot a thing, and since I had gotten two partridges, I felt I got my bag for the day. He never did get anything, and that evening we had roast partridge with Jim continuing to grumble about beginner's luck. He had never succeeded in getting a partridge for the rest of his life. (He passed a few years ago.) And he remained furious and humbled by the fact that his little brother beat him on that day.
Just an amusing story. Good luck with those doves!
We walked to the hunting property and split up. As I entered the woods, I saw a big bird pecking around in the shadows by a ditch. So I shot it. One bullet and it dropped. I didn't know what it was. I walked back to where my brother and I split up and saw him waiting for me. He hadn't gotten so much as a squirrel. Then I showed him my big bird, and his jaw dropped. I had bagged a large partridge. Grumbling about beginners's luck--my brother didn't like me much--we walked back to the lodge and had lunch, and prepared to go out again. Jim was not going to be outdone by his brat little brother, and he was determined to get a partridge. So we split up again exactly like before, and again as I entered the woods I saw another big partridge on a tree stump. I shot it. One shot and it dropped. This time I walked back with the bird behind my back where I met my brother--who was still empty handed--and asked him, "What was that you said about beginner's luck?" Then I pulled out the second partridge. He was furious. His face turned five shades of red while he mumbled, "Not possible. No one has that kind of luck!" That evening he went out again to hunt but didn't shoot a thing, and since I had gotten two partridges, I felt I got my bag for the day. He never did get anything, and that evening we had roast partridge with Jim continuing to grumble about beginner's luck. He had never succeeded in getting a partridge for the rest of his life. (He passed a few years ago.) And he remained furious and humbled by the fact that his little brother beat him on that day.
Just an amusing story. Good luck with those doves!
