When extended family comes to visit, I’m not one to spare the good stuff. “Hey, wanna grill a woodchuck?” I asked my brother-in-law as we were chipping golf balls around the yard one evening. Brock is not one to back down from a challenge and he claims to know how to grill, so I fished the poorly packaged woodchuck out of my chest freezer and plopped it on the table. Silence filled the air as intrigue descended upon the crowd of young children gathered around.
“So, I noticed a charge on the credit card to Vermont Fish and Wildlife for your Moose application. When is the season again?” my wife questioned me the other day.
“Oh, you know….early October,” I replied.
I tried to leave, but before I could she hit me with a dose of her reality. “You do remember that I’m due at the end of September, right?”
I’ve often thought that, despite the hard work, hosting a hunting show would be fun. Obviously, the show would be immensely popular and leave a lasting, positive impact on viewers. It would combine the sexiness of a Mariah Carey music video to attract the shallow minded viewers, but also bring the intensity found in a Bob Ross “The Joy of Painting” episode for those who desire the many qualities Ms. Carey lacks. That big buck in the first episode won’t be standing behind a half dead tree, it’ll be behind a “scantily clad, happy little hemlock.” See what a mean? That’s television gold if I do say so myself.
Where have I been? I haven’t been in woods chasing after turkeys, I’ll tell you that. Most of the past month has been spent focusing on my day job (or at least doing my best to portray that), working on my house, and getting yelled at during a public meeting as a bonus.
It never fails that when a hunting season rolls around, unforeseen deadlines pop up. Who would have thought that the grass would need to be cut during the month of May? Ridiculous. I’m seriously considering entering my .6 acres of land into the Crop Restoration Program. At least that way I’ll have a reason for why my lawn looks so terrible. Plus, I hear 200” whitetails like to bed down in the cover provided from CRP fields. It’ll be like my own guilt-free hunting mecca. Who needs a yard anyway? There is plenty of room to play catch in the street.
I hold a certain affection for hunting turkeys much the same as I do for woodchucks. They drive me nuts, and I finally figured out why. It’s the way they look at you. A deer, for instance, will stare right at you if they sense danger, which is a logical approach. A turkey or a woodchuck will appear as though they are looking perpendicular to you, but in actuality, they are giving you the business out of one beady little eyeball mounted on the side of their head. I’m not sure why it annoys me the way it does, but their stupid little eye games make me want to bring them home for dinner.