It twas a Sunday.  What to do? 

The beloved Vikings were certainly not the ticket with their lost season, but the NFL playoff push is hard to pass up.  A little late season pheasant hunt sounded good to me, however, my buddies Jesse and Paul too had football on the brain.

My quick persuasion went like this . . . “We will go on one quick walk, get back home by noon, and hit the local watering hole to see Ponder try to throw touchdowns!!”  Who could pass on that? 

It worked!

We set the compass due south and found a Minnesota Wildlife Management Area that had been good to us in the past.  Last year, the birds flushed . . . plentiful.  It was tougher this year.  My Brittany was working her tail off in the long grass, having to hunt harder than normal.

The walk seemed longer than usual, which was actually my plan. The long walk was necessary to be successful, and successful we were.  My Brit became birdy as far from the truck as we could get.  I, after the long walk, was breathing hard and, of course, not paying attention.

Near the thickest thicket, my Brit jumped a rooster.  With my gun on my shoulder, it took me forever to straighten the barrel.  A sideways shot is all I managed, and wing is all I shot.

  Luckily Paul shot two blazing shots with cat-like reflexes and the bird was down. 

Despite my less-than-stellar shooting prowess, I was pumped.  My dog flushed a bird, we were successful, and I was ready for more. 

What I forgot was the deal.  “Oh yeah . . . those Vikings!”  We grabbed our prize and turned directly around, back to the truck.

I couldn’t complain too much.  We took some time for photos and hit the road straight to the big screen.  Although Ponder was throwing some darts, the game ended badly . . . again.  Oh well. 

You are certainly living the dream when you are torn between football and pheasants.

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