It’s nearly midnight and I’m too tired for a glass of scotch.
I’m kneeling over a pile of dead grouse in the garage and in the tight space, the stench of wet feathers and bird shit is overpowering.
I flash back to a moment earlier in the day when my buddy tried to spare me this late-night foray into the garage.
“Should we clean these birds,” he asked, standing in the tall grass near the truck.
I barely stopped to consider.
My mind was engulfed by miles of golden grass filled with the promise of a flush.
“Nah, let’s get them later,” I said.
I wish I had done this earlier.
4 thoughts on “Bag o’ birds”
Greg, a familiar syndrome. I find myslf standing outside the trailer, cleaning birds, when I should be warm inside sippin’ sourmash and enjoying a pre-dinner snack.
Sometimes you can con your partner into it if you are doing dinner… but not usually.
I’ve been there too many times to count. I have to say what’s helped in recent years is that I’ve started letting my birds hang for a few days before cleaning.
Pheasants, quail, even dove. It’s changed my life.
I have zero sympathy. None whatsoever. Jealousy maybe, but no sympathy.
Got it figured out now…bring the teenage sons along with you on most hunts, on the condition they clean all the birds from all hunts.