The season so far:
Opening day was Wed. Milawyer and I started out, just like last year, sneaking into the woods in the pre-dawn, behind Diamond Dave's bARN. Even though the old hillbilly that had been religiously feeding the deer and turkeys all winter, had recently gone into the hospital, I figured we had a good chance they'd still be roosting there. I was wrong. We heard gobbles from way across the road, and some from up by the egg farm, but none in close. There was nothing to do but head down river.
We set up on a high ridge, over looking the flat, across from Gilkey's fields, at the corner of the river. I spotted a bird in Gilkey's field, who upon hearing my calls, flew to our side. I thought we were in business. Then I spotted something low and dark bouncing towards us. It was too small for a bear and too big for a mink....a fisher cat! The amazingly beautiful creature followed my calls right down the gun barrel. At about 10 yards it stopped on a stone wall and looked right at me. Neither of us felt threatened. So i squawked on the box and it scampered past us, into the thick woods. As they say in the trade- good encounter.
Milawyer followed me down onto the flat and I fell asleep against a tree. When I opened my eyes and made a few calls I heard a gobble. It was close. They were coming right past Milawyer. After the first blast from his 12 ga. I saw a red head. I almost had my sights leveled on the bird when the second blast sent him packing. "Did you get him?" I yelled. All I heard was grumbling. No feathers. No blood. A clean miss on a bunch of birds. No worries. The season is young. If I had a nickel for every one I missed......
The next four days found us trudging the woods from Montgomery to White Sulfur Springs with no luck. We'd hear plenty of roost gobbles. Then they'd shut right up and we'd lose them. By yesterday Milwyer had had enough. This morning I took the Cardinal Tristan Epic with me out at WSS. I hadn't gotten to bed until 2:00 am and was up at 5:00 am- hung over and bleary eyed. I forgot my belt, my mask, my box call and the striker to my slate call. Lucky I remembered my gun. It's pretty sad when I have to borrow a call from the 13 year old Cardinal. The good news is I called in two jakes and a hen. The bad news is I couldn't see my sights and missed. The Cardinal cursed as the 12 gauge, laid across his knees, echoed through the woods. At least he FINALLY had the complete turkey hunting experience. By 7:00 am he'd had enough, so I took him home and was more than happy to go home and crawl back in bed with Shewho.
Now for the big news. I'm in the process of buying The Glen Wild Synagogue. My prime picker Dick Benjamin has coffee with my 90 year old real estate agent Ruby Katz every morning. When Ruby told Dick that the old sanctuary was for sale, Dick called me. When I saw it, we made a handshake deal. With a 90 year old agent, you can take that to the bank. So soon i will own a church, a cemetery and a synagogue. The cardinal is excited about our new digs and per his suggestion we are about to write our own Torah. Not to be confused with other congregations, I suggested we use the Cardinal's blood as ink. "Don't worry." I assured him. "I won't bleed you dry. All I need is the blood of a 13 year old boy every month, until we're done." He's cool with that. Shalom.
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