I finished Evening Prayer,1928 BCP, thank you very much, and glanced over at a shotgun. Nothing special, just a 12 gauge Mossberg pump. That was enough. "I know," I thought to myself, "I'll go out dove hunting." And that's what I did.
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Where's the Dove? |
But I didn't go to the usual spot because I didn't want to shoot out the field, so I checked out another place and went in search of birds.
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Spirit of the Moon |
An hour or so later I'd flushed a few from the brush, taken a couple of shots, and missed. So I hunkered down in a treeline and waited for the dove to fly. Nothing doing. Buzzards? Yes. If I'd been on a buzzard hunt I'd have reached my bag limit in minutes, which would doubtless be a fine thing, but no dove.
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Texas is Alright |
Still, it was simply good to be out in the field, senses heightened by the hunt and alive to the sounds, sight and smell of the Texan country. And that's alright.
Dove, listen up. This isn't over.
LSP