By Dirk Thayer
May 02, 2007 03:58 pm
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As this article goes to press, turkey season will be over. I went this morning and got on a gobbling bird. This was good enough for me as this late in the season, it's an accomplishment in itself. Well, he was interested but not enough and had other things on his mind besides romance. I suspect he has been picked at by another pretty good turkey hunter and has become wise to the call. There was a time when this would have frustrated me to no end but as I get older I am just thankful to be out there on the hunt. Season limits, trophies and quality, come in many different colors now in my mind’s eye.
With that in mind, I think back on the many turkeys I've hunted over the years that have developed a reputation and a nickname.
After a Easter Sunday sermon, he had developed other names prior to that, names that we won't put in a family paper. I reflect back on a few, as follows: The Birthday Bird, Mr. Fence Line, Old Crow, Insama Bin Laden, you know the terrorist. I don't know if I spelled that right, but he doesn't deserve the respect of correct spelling anyway. Actually my son and Coach Putt nicknamed that last bird but I had the displeasure of hunting him also.
Anyway, I think you can use your imagination to think of how some of these birds got their nicknames. I could name many more. Those are just a few that come to mind.
My son, Jason, commented the other day that he liked hunting a bird that has developed a reputation and a nickname. I had a young bull butchered some time ago. The bull had gotten into a lot of trouble and it was time for him to go to the meat locker. At any rate, one night when we were eating some hamburgers, I commented to my wife and youngest son, Matthew, that Old Andrew tasted pretty good. Matthew looked at me with a dry sense of humor and said, "Dad, I don't like eating something with a first name."
As I cleaned that Praise the Lord Bird, I heard the first bobwhite quail calling in my back pasture and was reminded of the dog days of summer that are around the corner and a flood of childhood memories came forth.
Like the several old men in my young life that baptized me into the outdoor world. Men like my Uncles William, G.C. and William's best friend, Sam Steed, also a distant relative. They talked about trapping, coon hunting, squirrel hunting and quail hunting. I could listen to them talk for hours at a time.
With all this reminiscing, I went on a hunt last weekend with my son Jason, Tommy Trussell and Jake King. We didn't do any good but at one point there was three generations of hunters in those woods. With that in mind I like to think that now I'm one of those old men and somebody will listen to my ole tales in the near future as I'm a grand pappy now with three grandchildren.
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