We ended the season last night in fine form. Just five of us, four dogs, and lots of laughs. 42 degrees and sunny for most of it, the days are getting longer. Some of the poorest shooting of the year, but everyone got plenty of it. Steve told a group this morning, "It was $&#*(@ glorious." All we did was laugh and walk and shoot and retrieve and reflect on what a great season 2020 was. We ended up with ten birds last night. I should have kept track of how many we took there this fall. I said I think it was over 200, and my friend Carter said he figured over 300. Wow.

There's a little corner of the property which doesn't always hold birds, I can't exactly figure out why but I think it has to do with timing. Anyway as we pulled up to that spot in my pickup, the walkers were getting out and about 60 birds got up, all within range, some within feet. Guns came late into battery and nothing dropped. And we just laughed. Lucky us.

As it turned out, I killed the first bird on the place this year, and the last. Just as the sun was going down, I was trying to catch up to a crossing bird, left to right, and out there about 30-35 yards. The third shot dumped him and I thought "Oooh, he's going to be hard to find." I was approaching the site of his demise, and from off to my left came Lola, bird in her mouth. Quite proud of herself but not quite as proud as I was.

[Linked Image from i.imgur.com]

[Linked Image from i.imgur.com]

[Linked Image from i.imgur.com]


"Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin.'"