Laser Eyes

In a serious bid to escape from the atrocious news that we're bombarded with on a daily basis, I took a picture of my laser-eyed dog.

He may or may not have a tennis ball in his mouth.

I'm going riding later.

That is all.

LSP

Hunt On

Legend has it that most of the world's Auodads live in Texas, as opposed to their native North Africa. That may or may not be true, but it's rare to get an invite to an Aoudad hunt and I wasn't slow to refuse. Good fun at a friend's ranch and a chance to shoot the wiley, skittish, North African mountain goat. So I loaded up the truck with guns and headed south.

Where's the pigs?

The first day we drove about in GWB's truck, scouting around, hoping for hogs and sure enough, a big black pig broke cover in front of the vehicle and out we got, fast as you like. Safety off, shoot! But the animal was moving fast and lived to fight again another day. Same story with a turkey, but this time a shot connected and the bird went down. Brisk business and a good result. Well done GWB.

Turkey

The next day it was Aoudads. We spent some time in a blind but didn't shoot. Long story short; it didn't seem right to take the shot and we packed up, full of Aoudad tension, to break for lunch, the plan being to get out again in the afternoon. I was going to skip, thanks to a deadline, but our Guide, TRF, (Top Ranch Foreman) suggested I come out for "a quick circle." 

LSP

Soon enough we were in the truck and on an Aoudad, half-hidden behind a bush on a bluff at around 150 yards. This was my shot and I didn't have time for another, thanks to the deadline, so it had to be right. I held on the animal's left shoulder and squeezed the trigger. Remember, it's not every day that you get to do this; was the shot on? Well, I didn't see the beast go down.

Well Done CML!

We clambered up the bluff to find out what had happened. I felt I'd shot high and missed but before long we found a significant amount of blood. The goat had been hit, but where was the body? Nowhere, apparently, and I began to think that I'd wounded it, which is a nightmare. But, if it had run off wounded, where was the blood-trail? It wasn't there. A disturbing mystery. 

GWB & TRF

My Wittgenstinian ally, GWB, solved it by looking over the edge of the bluff. Being a fan of formal logic, he'd worked out that the blood-trail must be where we weren't looking. The only place was over the bluff, and there it was, caught in its horns by a thicket; I'll leave you to enjoy the Abrahamic parallel. It wasn't large, but I'd killed it cleanly with a shoulder-shot and it was the animal that presented itself to me. 

MM got the Trophy

For me the hunt was over, but the rest of our party got to work, bringing in successively larger beasts as the day went on. The best went to MM, our hostess, who shot a trophy ram at 200 yards at the end of the day. What a good hunt! 4 shots, none easy, and 4 kills, the last being the best of all and that was as it should be; MM had given the invite.

Huge thanks to MM,

LSP