Freedom, Sort Of.

If they were humans, they would be committed.

Opening Day. The image conjures up day drunk stumble fests at baseball stadiums and being huddled in a small local bar taking bourbon and letting my eyes and slowly swelling brain readjust to the speed and brutish viciousness of professional hockey.
Opening of bird season is a little different. I really don’t get too excited for the grouse hunting itself. It’s nothing personal, I just don’t enjoy it very much for reasons that continue to escape verbal thought. I get the most worked up about the opener because I finally get to turn loose a whimpering maniac nearly at whits end, crying and acting out much like the raptor in the opening scene of Jurassic Park. She’s been this way for weeks, and the older dog is a bit wiser now to a length.
They began to lose their collective minds when I put a few drops of lube on the old pump action, grab the boots and vest and head for the door. It feels good to walk the hills with a scattergun and watch your singularly programmed spazzes lose their minds for a few hours.

After all it isn’t just another hike in the woods, you’re holding the scattergun, you’re wearing the boots and vest – the gear that only comes along with bloodsport.

Watching the year old pup dace around and over the brush like an albino dwarf deer lacking an internal compass. Feeling her releasing pent up frustrations only shared by those who have been released by kidnappers – a deep sense of frustration and complete lack of understanding as to why you were pent up, and an orgasmic joy abounding when finally turned loose. In the pup’s case Stockholm Syndrome is reinforced after release by the GPS training-collar, never letting the beast forget in some inordinate way, you’re still in control.

The older one has become a boot licker, but at this stage she has earned it. She likes to serve as guardian although she prefers to fetch any and every bird crossing the bar. When the shots crack and the feathers float she is all business and has lost only two birds in her entire career. Not bad for a free golden lab.

The leaves are turning, NHL training camps are about to start, and the freedom of the desert rim rock is only a few weeks away. I hope these slobbering savages can keep it together long enough for the show.

No, we didn’t move east and become partridgers.
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One response to “Freedom, Sort Of.

  1. Im fairly certain that between the month of September and October there is a giant cloud of pent up dog and hunter frustration that drifts up into the atmosphere once it is finally released. Im betting that it is probably the cause of global warming or at least a Hurricane or two. Im Glad you got out.

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