WITH JAKE AND I

  I'm telling Shewho about Mupp asking if I'm taking Jake with me opening day?  She's looking blankly at me as if to say "Do I know who Jake is?" I remind her that Jake is the nickname for the old man's Parker Bros. 12 ga. double barrel, that Smokey lent me last year. And no, I didn't take Jake out opening day. It was raining. No way am I gonna risk slipping in the mud and cracking that antique stock or rusting the gleaming steel after a wet morning. Jake only comes out when it's sunny.
   After my initial success on that rainy opening day the skies cleared and I slid two shells into Jake's barrel and now lug six foot of  shiny pipe through the woods every day. The Browning pump lays dejected in the trunk. I've had multiple Jake (turkeys) within 10 feet of the end of Jake (the gun's) barrel multiple times. But the long beards are keeping their distance. The season isn't a week old and I've have two big birds just out of reach. It's just a matter of time before they (or I) make a mistake.
    The one thing that still amazes me is I basically have the woods to myself. A little over 80 miles NW of Manhattan and I can hunt  across hundreds of acres and never see another human. American society has been conditioned to stay in their houses or cars, watching TV, nose in their phones, on the job and out of my woods. Thank you. It's just Jake, me and the birds, or lack there of. Milawyer is in town and I've been trying to get him out and put him on a bird. Lucky for him the days he's passed on have been quiet. I'm not seeing or hearing much. Yesterday I was completely skunked- no birds no gobbles. Today was a little better, but I had to drive down to Mupp's to get one going. Three toms came in, then shut up and froze just out of range. The frustration is back. Phew! After my score opening day I was worried it would get easy. No such luck. I know where two big toms reside. Jake and I are heading after them tomorrow. I have one thing to say to Milawyer. Tick-fucking-tock.