Murph dog about lost her gourd when I started assembling the gear. I might or might not have washed my brush pants from last year's last trip and the scent blast of dried pheasant blood must have been a sensory overload for her.
Tis the night before pheasant season, and all of us in this house are just slightly excited. Fingers are crossed for a decent second hatch of wild roosters as the first hatch was basically lost in our spring rain barrage that just kept coming.
Tomorrow is a day I haven't missed since I was 11 years old. It is a part of me as much as any part of my life. Some first days are over quickly, other are an excursion in perseverance. Either way, it's a day that I look forward to all year.
It's also a day that bring the fair weather hunters out to crowd the grounds. Through time and developed relationships, we are afforded the opportunity to hunt territory that others do not. Even that said, the season is long and with good numbers, we will enjoy the chase deep into winter when the fair weather gunners are sitting in front of a fire.
So tomorrow, may the dogs work close, may the birds hold tight and good luck to the trigger fingers that culminate the activities of opening day of pheasant season.
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