Go For Another Walk in The Woods

My philisophical pal, GWB, tipped up on Sunday night with a view towards some steaks and an armed stroll in the woods the following day. The steaks were good and so were the the woods, but just in case the latter needed pacifying, we took a small arsenal along.

GWB brought a Remington 870 because a 12 is always useful; I think it's his duck gun. I brought a Ruger American .22 and a .45. Who knows, maybe I'd have to use the pistol to get to the rifle, but even if I had to, I doubt I'd be much use with the rifle. 

Check Out The Pipe

I know this, because I fired off a couple of magazines off-hand against some steel plates, at around 50 yards, before we got to the woods and was appalled by my marksmanship, or rather lack of it. A couple of remedial afternoons at the range is definitely in order. 

Missing the target practice over, we headed into the thorny thicket of the woods, hoping for squirrels. They didn't show, but a stream did. It was tranquil, standing there looking down at the water and seeing fish glide and dart their way along the banks.

Go To The Woods

Water feature enjoyed, it was time to set up by some oaks and try to call in the bushy tailed tree dwellers. No joy, but the sound of the water moving in the near distance, and the woods coming alive in the silence, was soothing to the soul. 

Water, in Texas

At least it was for me, I'm not sure what GWB was up to. He was in a different spot, hidden in the brush, doubtless parsing John Milbank or texting some PH out of Eckland.

Time well spent communing with nature, we made our way out of the woods and back to what passes for civilization, pulled pork sandwiches at Dickey's BBQ Pit. And right tasty they were too.

Next time out, I'll try and shoot something.

God bless,

LSP

Blue Christmas

Here at the Compound things are pretty rough and ready, as you'd expect, but back at HQ? Different story, only the very finest wines and food will do. 

That's why Blue Navidad got lobster for Christmas. He tore right into that tasty snack! Delicious lobster.

Lucky dog, to be so privileged, unlike the lobster, which lost out in the greater scheme of things. Sorry, crustacean, they can't all be winners. But what can we say, let's hear it for seafood.

As I write this piece of nuanced, three-dimensional prose, safely back at the Compound, the happy sound of Navidad fills the air. Those of you who equate angelic choirs with pulsing Latino bass will know what I mean.

And I'm not complaining.

Merry Christmas,

LSP

Country Life in Texas

"So what's it like, LSP?" you ask, meaning, "Country life in Texas." Well I'll tell you. You go out on the front porch to clean some guns and five, yes, five, chickens fly out of the front hedge, around the compound and back from whence they came.

A shotgun would've come in handy.

That's what it's like. And Wendy Davis is not wanted here.

LSP

The Best Shot You Never Took In Your Life

Someone's Truck

Running alongside the field where JB's pastured is a dirt road, some grain bins and a large cornfield. A month or so ago the corn fields were harvested and became a veritable dove magnet. There I'd be, unsaddling the horse after a ride, and there the doves would be, in swarms.

Obviously I wanted to get out the gun and have a go, but hesitated to wander off with the yobbish pump action and blast away until I had permission to hunt the land. People frown on unidentified shooters roaming about their land, understandably. So I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the fields in question belonged to a parishioner who was happy to let me shoot.

After making sure (a few days in advance) that the owners of the horselands were alright with the project, I stalked off, Mossberg in hand.

The strategy was simple. Wait for the doves to arrive in their hundreds and shoot them. To that end I walked across a pasture, ducked under a fence, crossed the road, released the safety and... a great clatter of birds erupted from a tree to my front. The avian acrobats dodged the first two shots, but the third went home and a plump, corn-fed creature fell to the ground - just as I hear a great screaming from the direction of the horses. I won't repeat the language but it was strong and directed at the shooter.

I pondered the situation, reapplied the safety, and strode off down-field, thinking with a heavy heart that my riding privileges were about to be revoked. Still the shoot was still on and I figured I might as well see if I could chase up some birds further away. No luck; they liked the area around the grain bins, which I returned to.

Again, a tremendous whirring of wings as countless birds darted out of the trees around the bins, in all directions - just feet away from me. But I wasn't going to shoot and risk the wrath of the horse guardian. Instead I shouldered the gun and watched the quarry speed away to safety; never seen so many of the creatures so close and in the air at the same time.

Frustrating and doubly so when I learned the cause of the screaming. It was all a case of mistaken identity.

It seems a neighbour was in the custom of driving down the dirt road in his pick-up and taking pot-shots at birds from the window of the truck - towards the horses. Bonnie figured that was the source of the shots. Hence the invective; turns out I could have kept shooting. As it was, the one 'bird down' made for a tasty snack.

Moral of the story?

1. Don't shoot out of the window of your truck towards the barn - it spoils it for the rest of us.

2. Tell Bonnie when you're going to shoot.

3. Fresh dove tastes great.

Simple, really.

Hope you've had a blessed Sunday.

LSP