Location: Behind the house.
Gun: Merkel 3 inch, 50E 12 bore.
Seen: Red Tail Hawk, Falcon, Hen Turkey, Doves, and Squirrel.
Load: 3 dram, 1 1/8 ounce Winchester and Federal mixed matched.

I started hunting when I was 4 years old. My Pa had an old Cherokee model 12 bore single shot. I would route behind with my .410. My Pa, adopted father, grew up very poor. Big was non-existent. Those times were past by the time I came along. Given to his raisen, seasons for shotgun game were not well recognized.

Pa knew that I had a love for all things hunting. That my play revolved around stalking the cattle like they were bison in the Dakotas or buffalo in Africa.

We called these trips together shotgun safaris. Every squirrel was a leopard and every groundhawg was a rhino. Pa favorite was raccoon that to me was a grizzly bear. Every hawk was a chicken hawk and was treated like lions on Roosevelt’s Safari. The coyote depending on where we were on the march was a hyena or wolf. The best was finding the odd ruff grouse that I would only see when he would bring one to bag.

We marched all over the great game fields in my mind from the India to Alaska hunting out our holler.

Those days in many ways are gone. The hard part of life is the good part has got to give way to the bad before this mortal understands we are not meant to last.

Today, I got home from work about 6:00 p.m. The weather here has broke. Today was 20 degrees cooler with a slight wind than last week with no humidity to notice. I got my suite off and was looking at my 12 bore, shinny clean from a weekend at the Sporting Clay field. I was the only one in the house.

I knew I had 14 cartridges left in my shell bag. I was the only one home.

“I am not going to sit here in this house while the sun is up and a good gun is right here.”

I got my brush pants on with a long sleeve shirt and head toward the tree line. I had my double in my hands and wide brimmed hat. I dodged and chased some cattle who thought I was brining them an extra supper. I thought of those Shotgun Safari days. I came over a hill that is split by a little creek. I could see across where the field had been cut a surprising number of doves. The problem was how to get to them. I could not go the way I wanted because the cows thought I was the ice cream man. I stood there pondering the approach when I happened to look up. Three had flown out of the creek. They were coming low. I mean low enough I could have netted three of them with a long handle butterfly neat, but fast. They were right off my noise when I realized it. I threw Bismarck up, I did not look for the bead. Two trigger later and not a feather.

I reloaded and started back down over the hill. I honestly think I was too much in front of that set. I can say with all honesty that I was not in front of another bird. I went back to the house to cut wide on the the doves on the other side. They jumped before I got within a hundred yards of them. Some broke off from the big group cutting over head, slightly in front and high. Two shots later, and no birds.

The shooting and flying got some birds from my right over another hill up. I saw a bird coming from my left to right. I turned square to the bird. This time, for me at least I did it right. I picked up the bird: head to bead, bead behind bird, swing, bead past bird, modified barrel let go, and miss. Push the gun a little more forward keeping it moving. The full barrel stoned it, but still no pellets in the head. I could have been even more out front.

Up the big hill on the right hand side of the creek. I see a group of four doves fly into some timber that rings the top of the hill, just below the ridge. I march up there. The doves bust out of the tree as I crest the hill. I bring Bismarck to my check, but do not fire. I let them land and try to sneak closer. They break again going further into the timber. There is a little gap between the trees. Two tigger pulls later and no doves. The shot I did not take was better than that go.

I walk around the top. A hawk lands to my left. I watch her or him. The hawk picks back up. “You have the protection of the Crown now old boy.” The top has a high wall ridge to my right with timber. The left has a stand of timber just below the crest. The top is flat and about 50 yards wide across. I march on up. I see a tallish dark image slip into the timber on the left. I sneak on up to see a hen turkey yelping her way down the side. I lost her as she went to the right and out of sight. I make it to the far side. Twenty-eight years ago, I would have thought I made it to India. I have gone as far as the map goes. I turn back to hunt my way back home. I hear something to my right and up that is bigger than anything I have shot at today. I roll my eyes to the left. I see more shadow than body, “Leopard! Oh, I mean squirrel. I prevent on him. I touch the front trigger just as he disappears behind a trunk. I see nothing. I hear nothing. I watch the last branch he was standing on when I fired twirl to the ground. Finally, three trees up I see the limbs bending and shaking. He is out of my trouble. I wait, but to my surprise there are no others to be shot at. “Good thing Pa is not here. He would not appreciate missing a squirrel.” I really do not think I “missed.” I think the eight shot got ate by branches.

I work back down cutting through the timber to my what is now my right and was my left on the march up. I see a few doves roosting up on the telephone wires. I make a swing. I would get just close enough then they would hop another 30 yards down the power line back up the hill. We did this to when I was just below the top again. One broke, he was too far. I shot at him twice. Three got up from the ground just overt the rise. I learned my lesson; too far. I reloaded and got against some snap dead brush that had been sprayed around near the power pole and anchor cables. I watched a Falcon leave its nest. The falcon circled and then shot down the creek. I watched it tell I could not see it. I looked up and left to have a dove not 15 yards almost at a right angle to me. I started the mount. The dove kicked in the hyper drive flairing hard. I held up. Sometime later, the falcon returned to its nest. The setting son is start into my eyes.

I saw a dove coming first left to right just off the sun’s face. The dove’s noise looked liked it touched the edge of the sun burning and turned toward me. I did it right again. I swung through the bird breaking the modified barrel as the bead past the beak noting. I kept the swing going. The bird got over me and behind. I pivoted and twisted at the waist. I saw the bead past the beak. The full choke barrel brought him down with a loud thud.

I took the breast and legs off as one piece with the skin on. First, I dusted the pieces in seasoned flour, second an egg wash, third into the panco, fourth into a hot cast iron skillet with melted butter and canola oil. I lift the skillet at the handle, so the butter and oil runs to the cook’s half of the skillet. I ladle the butter and oil over the top of both sides after letting them brown on their own for a few minutes. The meal was more snack than supper, but very good. I was surprisingly full.

The clean up probably took longer than the hunt. I thought of Pa, those days gone, how bad my shooting was, and how glad I am that leopard did not charge today.

Lovely story

Thank you, kindly.

Thanks. Enjoyed your story and the memories!