BIRDS OF A FEATHER

 

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

 I find myself using that simple question more and more these days. And it’s not for the more than obvious Trump cabinet picks. I know the answer to that. Casting by Satan. I don’t know if Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein are still alive, but…….now with Jeffrey Epstein gone, either seem perfect for Secretary of (underage) Women’s Affairs. I haven’t had a TV in a long time, but most of the cabinet seem to be plucked from reruns and long-ago cancelled shows. Once Matt Gaetz is thrown in jail, I nominate the A.I. generated Scooby-Doo hologram for A.G. “Sooby-Dooby-Doo! I convict YOU!”

 

No. The whys I’ve been muttering to myself as I split wood, hunt and butcher deer, cook venison stew on the woodstove, and as Shewho, washes wool, spins Lassie’s hair and weaves rugs on her many looms are…..why the fuck does the 21^st Century need A.I., and bitcoin powered by nuclear powered plants? Assholes like Elon Musk landing rich tourists on Mars? A global arms industry that funds genocide and colonialism? &c.? &c.?

 

One doesn’t need to be sitting in the tree stand for hours on end (seeing nothing) to ask these questions. All you have to do is pry your eyes open in the morning. Used to be I stayed engaged with Democracy Now and Aljazeera. No more. I can’t get through 15 mins. of news before my stomach starts to flip. CNN and PBS lost me months ago with their pro-Israeli spin and lame jingoism. I never liked MSNBC. Too much makeup. The entire mess has been normalized to the degree that I can’t even satisfy my “outrage porn” needs. The neighbor’s ostriches stretch their necks out, look at me and wink, as if to say “You know what you have to do.” Nooooooooooooooo!

MY BUCK NOVEMBER 16, 2024

 

SAVAGE LYNCH NOVEMBER 17, 2024

 

BIRD NOVEMBER 16, 2024

 

PHOTOG GEORGE NOV. 15, 2024

 

TALE OF THE ANCIENT HUNTERS

 What the fuck am I doing home on the second day of gun season writing my blog in 57-degree weather? For the answer keep reading. Let’s go back a week or so. The fall weather has been crazy here in the northeast – no rain, temps into the 70’s. It’s more like California…and now even with wildfires. Of course, global warming is a myth so we shouldn’t concern ourselves. Try explaining that to a doe coming into estrous or a rutting buck. There’s a lot of activity (running, searching, speed-dating and finally sexual intercourse) involved around this time of year. When it’s warm, that dance of procreation is that much more taxing in the heat of day. Nighttime becomes the right time. That leaves all but a few jacklighting hillbilly neighbors holding our dicks, instead of a big rack. Then there’s my party schedule. With everybody having birthdays, I’ve been busy. I think some of the harder partiers are double dipping. Didn’t we just celebrate your 30th six months ago?

 

As of last week, I’d barely seen a deer, let alone a shooter buck. Then, the night before opening day I got an email from Photog George. He’d also been seeing nothing, but I noticed there was an attachment. Leave it to PG to lay a big buck out on the last day of bow. This guy has shot some of the biggest wall hangers I’ve ever seen. It’s not fucking fair. We ALL hate him. Just kidding Georgie.

 

So, when I got up Sat. morning at 5:00 am, with a head ache, sweaty and nauseous, I had to double check my memory. Had I been drinking too much? No. In fact I hadn’t had a drink all week. Feeling like shit, I drug my ass down to Gilkey’s (Julie’s) and climbed in a tree Bird was calling the Hemorrhoid Stand (long story). As dawn was breaking, I spotted a doe about 300 yards across the open field. Then another. Then the sun hit horns. The third deer was a buck – not a giant, but a solid eight. I decided I would shoot him IF he gave me the opportunity.

 

My days of letting bucks pass, “wait until next year when he’ll be bigger" are long gone. Who knows if I’ll be here next year. I scoped the deer and tried to judge the distance. I had a steady rest on a tree branch and the gun was on at 100 yards, but I didn’t trust myself at 300 or even 200 yards. So, I waited. They stayed in the same spot for over an hour, eating, the doe acting very demure. A few times the buck got frustrated, ran the doe around aimlessly, but they always returned to the same spot, under Savage’s high stand on GNJohn’s property line. You know the spot?

 

Then, right around 8:00 am the buck had had enough. Time to get jiggy. He put his nose to the ground and made his intentions known. Luck was on my side. She ran straight for the hemorrhoid tree. My scope was at full power and the tree branch rest was worthless. I swung the gun and tried to get on the buck as they barreled right at me. At about 30 yards they slowed, and the buck stopped. Then, out of the bushes came a little fawn. She stopped right behind the buck. I couldn’t shoot. The cross hairs were on his chest when she moved, and I pulled the trigger. The buck stumbled and fell. He was dead within seconds. THANK YOU LGM - and all other deities!

 

I drove my truck right to the deer and had him hanging in the tree before 9:00 am. As it turned out, brother Bird was pulling the trigger at almost the same moment as I on an even bigger eight. When we gathered at Bird’s last night for our traditional opening day party, Bird and I were the only one’s with blood under our fingernails. Shewho and I planned to hang until about 10 pm, then drive  up to Sara B’s Bday party at Velma. But my morning sickness came back. Pregnant? Manopause? We drove home and I sweated all night in misery. So much for date night.

 

The only one to go out this morning was Savage. Around 10 am I got a call from Bird and an email from Ginger. Savage had scored. Four OLD hunters in their sixties and seventies had each shot good bucks within three days. Mine, although perfectly respectable, was the smallest of the bunch. Who knows how many years we all got left. If we’re lucky we’ll all die in the stand…..or on the dance floor. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEXY MAMA SARA B.!!!!!  Time to party.