sprayhawk

I admit I’ve been neglecting my duties to Sprayhawk a little bit.  It’s been crazy lately.  I’m taking 12 credit hours…wait that’s not an excuse.  And I’ve been partying a lot…not an excuse either.  OK, so I’ve got no excuses, I’m just easily distracted.

Today at Avalon house I shot a dove with a pellet gun.  Thor and I were on the deck, overlooking the woods behind the property.  Shaman had left some pellet guns around so we naturally took up arms.   To the right, in the neighbor’s yard, perched a dove.  It was about fifty yards away, up in a tree. (Distances will vary depending on level of exaggeration.  Thor will tell you it was twenty yards, but we all know he’s a goddamn liar.)

I’ve never shot an animal before.  However, it is in my best interest to learn the art of hunting in case I do end up living in the woods with a rifle.  This is a definite possibility, or so I tell my friends and family.

I aim up in the tree.  Inhale.  Hold breath.  Crosshair on the chest.  Squeeze the trigger.  Direct hit.  Exhale.

The bird freezes and tumbles down to the ground with a thump.  In the neighbor’s yard.  Shit?  I stand gawking, gather my senses, and then go and find the kill.  I locate the body in a thorny thicket.  I am glad it died immediately.  I pick it up by its legs and carry it back to the deck.  Thor is extremely jealous.  I laugh.

I start calling for Shaman, who is in the house.  I have no idea what to do next.  He comes outside and grabs the still warm bird.

“Nice,” he says simply, carrying it down into the backyard.

Shaman then proceeds to walk me through “field dressing” the animal, which basically consists of ripping it apart with his bare hands.  Feathers are flying and Thor and I just stand there making dumb noises such as, “Ah, oh, shit, damn, whoa, and look at all that blood.”

The job is over in a minute and Shaman hands me the breast of the dove.

I put it in foil with butter, garlic, and some chicken seasoning.

We light the grill.

Shaman tosses on some pork chops.  Manager’s special.

Thirty minutes elapses.

The bird is delicious.

Thor is jealous.  He tries shooting a few doves but cannot.  I laugh at him and brag and ask him if he remembered to load the gun.

He calls me a bastard.

He’s a bastard.

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