Author Archives: Tom Reed
Prickly
It is the beginning of the longest season and temper flares now and then like bursts of gas refinery burn-off. Prickly. Irritable. Sloth. No long walks with dog and gun. Those are far ahead. Too far ahead. Irritable itch. We’ll … Continue reading
Filed under Surviving the off season, Talegate
Week-old chukar
It was a romantic dinner. Candlelight. A fire crackling in the woodstove, splashing orange shadows on the walls of the old ranch house. A decent Malbec. Some tunes. And chukar. Sauteed in olive oil with an excellent mild curry paste … Continue reading
Filed under Chukar, Glutton For Punishment, Good Eats, Talegate
Road rage
The road there sings anticipation. Dogs grumble from the shell, butts and junk sniffed, dominance decided but as tentative and thin as September ice. In the cab, laughs and Dew and miles to go. This year a new place relayed … Continue reading
Filed under Chukar, Glutton For Punishment, Open country, Road Tales, Talegate
The Other
He may be the best dog I will ever walk the ground with. Perhaps not. Perhaps there will be another dog that will display and dazzle. But there will never be another dog like him. And there will never be … Continue reading
Beer
My beer has been stolen. Pabst. Blue. Ribbon. It’s been stolen by the bro-bras. You know them. Nice enough guys, well-intentioned. Fun to hang out with. But the fuckers stole my beer. My dad drank it. So I did too. … Continue reading
Filed under We might have been jrunk.
Chukar Recess
A scrape on my right knee, reminiscent of a ten-speed crash. A bruise on my shin, running knee-cap to ankle. Another on my ass. My shotgun has similar injuries. No matter. I’ve been playing. I’m doing it again. Now running. … Continue reading
Filed under Chukar, Glutton For Punishment, Undaunted by Futility
Sweetness
Sometimes, she is lost in the crowd, run-over, crotch-sniffed and dry-humped by big males. But somehow, she always finds her way to the front and she is there, frozen and steady. Cat-like on the creepers. Chukars and pheasant and sage … Continue reading
Last Call
Grasshoppers whirl at my feet like playing cards snapped into a stiff wind, a sound that is enough like a rattlesnake to skip my heart a couple of beats. This is snake country, and they are still active, even now … Continue reading
Filed under Dogs, Grouses, Open country
Charged
I worried about the heat; 80 and rising and four dogs in fur coats out in it. I worried about the back end of the old man, breaking down now after nine hard years of sweeping before my guns. I … Continue reading
Filed under Soul
Quickening
It has been shoved aside for months. Roughly. Put in a closet. Oiled perhaps, but discarded out of sight. And out of mind. Then this morning you wake and there is snow up there. Last night–a Sunday–you were up at … Continue reading
Filed under Surviving the off season
Blood lust
I’m going to admit to a blood lust. I like to kill and I love to hate. But only one thing in particular: starlings. Stinking, shitting, filthy starlings. I stalk them in my bathrobe. They flutter and twitter about the … Continue reading
Filed under Surviving the off season
Mouse hunting
The setter people entertain themselves these days by mouse hunting. We take our daily walks on the bench above the home place now in the light of spring, not the dark of winter. North Willow Creek is still fairly clear, … Continue reading
Filed under Dogs, Surviving the off season
King of the Big Empty: Our generation’s Heath Hen
Consider the sage chicken. Take your time at it. He is a mighty bird, his pointed tail, his black-feathered breast, his mottled and muted yet beautiful hues, his huge feet. Many writers, attempting to describe his flight have penned imagery … Continue reading
Filed under Conservation and legacy, Open country
Smithhammer
Tom Reed
Tosh Brown
Matt Crawford
Greg McReynolds
Chad Love
