The Heady Scent of Heated Game

The aforementioned dove having spent an adequate amount of time in the freezer (I forgot about it), I decided the cool weather of the seventh day of October would make for a lovely time to prepare my quarry.


Having wrapped the little dickens in a fine strip of bacon, and slathering some butter over it, I set the dove in a small skillet on low heat, covered. Some freshly cracked pepper seemed necessary.



The savory scents arising from the lightly sizzling dove served to increase my appetite a thousand-fold. Some thirty to forty minutes later found the de-winged beast on my plate.


The taste, savory and delicious, was comparable to chicken liver; the texture like that of a steak, well done.


Apart from the small, sharp bone which embedded itself ever so painfully in my gums, this was a very tasty morsel.

"Ah, food in the raw! I crave the tangy zest of wild game!"
~That cartoon dog that always wanted to eat those little gophers

I Shot a Dove

Not a terribly large one.

I forgot to take pictures before I tore it asunder, and the bare meat is less than appealing, so I'll post a picture when I've cooked the rascal.

Don't know how I'll prepare the little booger, maybe I'll wait until I've gotten more of them and make a casserole.

Or a cake.

Medic, Morphine! II

In my rush to get back outside, I forgot the funniest part. (This really happened.)

As Son4 came over from giving my parents the loppers, I was clutching my left leg.

He asked, "Which foot hurts?"


"The one I'm clutching in agony!"

Medic, Morphine!

I debated with myself whether I should post this or not, see'n's how I don't want to portray myself as a whiner, but thought it too funny to pass up; Ideations of a Jayhawker not being the place for personal issues, I decided my hunting blog would be the best spot to put it. Particularly since I haven't posted anything on here for months, even though I've eliminated several pests and modified my Ruger 10/22 with a lovely, true-folding stock and sling... but I digress.

Setting up air conditioners and gardening in the Kansan spring heat had only barely begun to affect me, but I had plenty of energy to burn. Mom and I were walking over to the barn, the one closest to the house, to determine the exact size of the strawberry bed I was to till up.

Remembering Dad had already gotten the loppers out to trim the vines off of the gate, though not getting them all, Mom asked Dad where they were. He said they were on that bale of straw over by the garden. I dashed off to get them at top speed.

Within feet of the bale was a rock, which I believe to be a local mineral which had been deposited in large quantities around our pond, over time breaking up into smaller pieces. I didn't see it.

Flying up the cement, the purpose and placement of which is still a mystery, I stepped on the rock with only part of my left foot, thus wrenching it. My foot, that is.

I fell more gracefully than I normally do, but I lay wallowing in freakish misery on the ground, clutching my pain-ridden leg.

Blinded by the sun, I held as still as my adrenaline-rushed body would allow.

Son4 walked over, so I told him to take Mom the loppers and to remember me fondly when I pass on. (Not really, but this story is seeming more and more lame as I write it.)

"Go on without me. Save yourselves! Water! One last drink before it's too late! There are only twelve rounds left in my clip and one already chambered, take it, but leave me my sidearm and a grenade!"

Okay, back to reality.

I'm fine now, but my ankle is swollen; it doesn't hurt at all, but I'm sure tomorrow will bring that awful stiffness I hate.

Looong Overdue Starling Pics

Two Shots, Three Kills.

Perhaps a good handle for the winged beasts would be "sky-'yotes", because they're as destructive as coyotes when it comes to raiding nests and killing the innocent bird species.

Starlings were introduced to America in the 1800's from England, so they aren't protected by U.S. law; they're so nasty that they are killed en masse by farmers.

Sparrows are also hated.

I've downed many.

HUZ-ZAH!

Give Me My Papers!

So, it's 2009 and I want a hunting license right off the bat.

Kansas law dictates (and I chose the word purposely) that one must complete a 8-12 hour course on Hunter Education.

I didn't go.

5 years ago I got a Bowhunter Education card, but it is worthless today, as they are no longer required for bowhunting. Or, at least, I thought it was worthless...

Today, family and friends went to Wal*Mart for various reasons, but my only reason was to get all of my tags and licenses for the year. I took my Bowhunter card just in case they asked to see a Hunter Education Card.

When I got there I was sure that I would get everything, since they had a guy from the automotive department working the sporting goods desk! Woo Hoo!

He indeed asked for my Hunter Education number, so I gave him the Bowhunter card.

I told him I didn't know if it would count as a Hunter Education card, but said he needed a four-digit number, and that's what it had.

After about 20 minutes and $53, as well as a new acquaintance from Oregon who stood behind me in line, I had a '09 Hunting License, a 4-day doe tag, and a waterfowl stamp.

This better be worth it. If it is, you'll be the first to know!

Oh, I have a picture of three dead starlings on the front porch, but they haven't been uploaded yet.

Two shots, by the way.

Sic Semper Lepus II

In the evening of the 28th day of November, Son2, Son3, and Son4 shot two more rabbits.

Son2 alone got one on the run, and all of us fatally fired upon the second.






After some discussion, we decided that only two rabbits had escaped the hail of shot and shell, thus surviving the gauntlet for another year.