Hunting

I am not a fan. Luckily Chad only hunts seldomly and just birds. I have never really understood the joy in killing an animal for sport, especially something like a dove...I mean seriously, there are probably 15 sitting in my backyard right now, and none of them look delicious. In fact, I bet these are the same dove who just escaped a crappy shot and came back to the city life.

All this being said, years ago Chad said I couldn't understand hunting if I had never tried it. So, off we go quail hunting. I agreed to this under my conditions: 1) we had to shoot only quail, and 2) we had to eat them.  After about an hour of seeing absolutely nothing, Chad is irritated. Isn't this why it is called hunting? You have to "hunt" for them, right?  I guess to a terribly impatient person like Chad, an hour with no fresh blood is no fun.

Well, he finally rustled some quail and gets one! Yea! Half a meal for one of us! Now it is my turn, and I am determined and quite frankly scared of how bloodthirsty I was becoming myself. I hear a rustle in a tree across a dry riverbed and shoot. Nailed it! "Good job Babe," says Chad excitedly.  At this point I think I have a hidden talent and am anticipating some good grub tonight. We cross the riverbed and find my kill...a beautiful red, black, and white woodpecker - all dead from my spot on shooting.  I cried. He laughed. We left and didn't even take the other quail home. Never again.