Very nicely done, and seasonally appropriate, too. My dad was also an avid hunter and of course he too taught me to hunt using an old .410. I quickly graduated to a 16 gauge. My fondest memories of hunting with my dad are easily the dove hunts. We'd usually go out to my great uncle's place just south of Shiner to hunt dove, and almost invariably in September. My cousins and I were all pretty good shots. All of us except Chris. Poor Chris. He once shot at a dove sitting happily on a power line. I don't know about you guys but we called this unsporting shooting 'Arkansasing.' No real good way to spell that I guess. Notice I said 'shot at.' Yes, he missed. And the dove, alarmed, flew away hurriedly. I about pissed myself laughing. Chris is in the military now. He made it back from Iraq just last week.
Anyway, yeah, the dove hunts were great. There were usually plenty of birds and it's something you could do in the afternoon. Unlike duck hunting. Yeah, see, fuck that. Get up at three in the morning to go freeze your ass off sitting in a rice field somewhere to watch the dawn bring a clear morning and the only birds you see are flying 1000 feet in the sky? Strosrays likes to use these moments to contemplate his soul. At dark thirty sitting in a windswept rice paddy somewhere north of Brookshire I am in no mood to contemplate my soul, let me tell you. I'll get up at an absurd hour to go fishing, skiing or diving. But to freeze my ass off well within range of a bunch of armed rednecks operating on no sleep and god knows what kind of stimulants? No thanks.
My dad became something of a fly fishing fanatic towards the end of his life. One Christmas, probably his last, he gave my brother and me a set of fly fishing gear that I've never really used. I need to correct that, soon. I've always envisioned myself having the sort of tailgate moment you describe. I didn't get the tailgate option with my car but I'm sure I'll figure something out.
FTJ
