I said I’d give a quail hunting report this week, so here it is. I hoped for a red-letter opening day, but got a hot, windy, and dusty day instead. We — Rollin Birdz, Claude Hopper, and myself — hunted our pen-raised birds for a couple of hours, and harvested most of the birds we released, but the dogs couldn’t smell worth a hoot, so we called it quits for the day.
The second day was much better — cooler, high humidity, and not so much wind. Only Claude and me went and we harvested all the birds we released, except for one that flew out of the country when released. Smart bird. However, the dogs worked great and we had a lot of fun.
The third day again wuz cool and drizzly with some wind. But the dogs worked astutely and we again got all the birds we released, except one. It must have been related to the one that escaped the day before.
The biggest enjoyment wuz being afield with old friends — both human and canine. I’ll mention that we never flushed a wild covey of quail, although the population is much better this year.
***
Wildlife activity is picking up here at Damphewmore Acres. I’ve seen a really well-antlered buck crossing the property twice in the past week. Also, two of last year’s fawns are seen regularly. Plus, the Canada geese and some ducks are starting to use the pond nearly every day.
The squirrels are fat and sassy from eating walnuts, acorns, and raiding the bird feeder. One black-furred squirrel is the first I’ve seen here.
***
I finally got the chicken house winterized. It’s not much of a job, but I always put it off until the last minutes. Now I need to get the water heaters tested and put in the dog and chicken waterers before the first night with temperatures in the teens comes this weekend.
Another fall job completed is draining and storing all the garden hoses we use around here. I’m just glad for rural water so I don’t have to do water hauling as some folks still do.
***
When you have to write a column every week, you keep your ear to the ground for anything that might work as column materials.
With that in mind, here’s a few things overheard at the coffee shop in the past few weeks.
“I was brought up to respect my elders, but it’s getting harder and harder to find one to respect.”
“The irony of life is that, by the time I got old enough to know my way around, I realize I’m not going anywhere.”
“Frustration is trying to find my glasses without my glasses.”
“I donated blood the other day. Wish I could donate fat just as easy.”
“Why can’t I understand the person on the other end of the telephone conversation after I push ‘one’ for English?”
“My wife has diagnosed me as having NCD. She says that stands for No Can Do.”
“Some days I wish I had the wisdom of an 80 year old, the body of a 20 year old, and the energy of a three-year-old.”
***
From deep in the Missouri Ozarks comes this old hillbilly story:
One day Jeb leaves his farm and goes into the county sheriff’s office and requests a part-time winter job as a deputy, which he needs desperately for the extra income.
The sheriff, knowing Jeb’s family, laughs and says, ‘Well, I like your ambition. So, let’s see if you’re qualified. The sheriff asks him, “What are two days of the week that begin with T’?”
“Today and tomorrow,” Jeb says excitedly.
“Well, that’s not the answer I was looking for, but I’ll give it to you because it’s technically correct and shows you think out of the box,” says the sheriff.
“Now here’s your second question,” says the sheriff, “Who shot Abraham Lincoln?”
Jeb just stands there dumbfounded, looking blankly at the wall.
After a few awkward seconds, the sheriff says, “Why don’t you go home, think about it and come back tomorrow,” the sheriff tells Jeb.
So, Jeb goes home and his wife says to him, ‘So, my good man, did you get the deputy job?’
“I think so because they’ve already put me on a murder case,” Jeb answers.
***
Don’t murder me for that story. I just pass ‘em along. Now, to bridge the gap until next week, here’s some words of wisdom from my friend Jay Esse in Lakewood, Colo. He tell me that everyone must have been safe drivers in the 1960s because no one ever tried to text while driving. Also, if you pet a rattlesnake, the snake will be a friend for the rest of your life — about two hours. Have a good ‘un.
Photo credit: Kelsey Drey
