(Warning: Another Turkey Story Follows)
What is it with kids these days? Where’s the respect and “honor your father” stuff? For two years I’ve had to listen to my oldest son brag about shooting a big tom the first time out (as I mentioned in my previous post). Two years.
On Monday, (also in my previous post) I finally caught up to him: almost. My first turkey harvest was only a “jake” not a fully mature gobbler. But still. We were even at one. That lasted two whole days.
This morning I take the boy out before the sun again. We’re enjoying listening to God awake His creation to another day. Things get exciting when we start calling to no less than four gobblers. The sun comes up, and several hens fly off the roost at the other end of the field we’re staring at; about 120 yards away.
Very soon after, a big ‘ol tom joins the party. They're calling, he’s strutting, we’re calling, he’s answering. But six hens on his end of the field beats the one plastic hen on our side, so he’s not interested in coming over.
We watch ‘em for a couple hours. The hens meander around. Tom just stays and struts. We’re amazed and entertained by about a dozen deer who come out and literally “frolic” in the field right alongside the turkey. What a wonderful scene. We’ve given up on getting tom’s attention, but we’re enjoying the show.
Suddenly, my son whispers, “Don’t Move!” Marching into the field, right next to our blind, is three young gobblers all in a row. It’s almost cartoonish. Three turkey soldiers marching in line, and even in step right across the front of the blind.
Well, Nathanael has pretty much given up on that old boy on the other side of the field, so…Bang! One less fowl marcher in the band. And even though it’s “only a jake,” my loving son is quick to point out that his jake is one pound heavier with spurs over ¼ inch longer than mine.
Not only are we no longer close to even, he’s way out front. I repeat: What is it with kids these days? Where’s the respect and “honor your father” stuff? Have I raised just another “one-upper” for the world?
Seriously, I’m extremely proud of the boy. We had a great time this year. God blessed us with some amazing scenes in the woods; two wonderful birds to put on the table; and some of the best father-son time a guy could ask for.
Of course, next time, I’m not letting him even take a gun!
What is it with kids these days? Where’s the respect and “honor your father” stuff? For two years I’ve had to listen to my oldest son brag about shooting a big tom the first time out (as I mentioned in my previous post). Two years.
On Monday, (also in my previous post) I finally caught up to him: almost. My first turkey harvest was only a “jake” not a fully mature gobbler. But still. We were even at one. That lasted two whole days.
This morning I take the boy out before the sun again. We’re enjoying listening to God awake His creation to another day. Things get exciting when we start calling to no less than four gobblers. The sun comes up, and several hens fly off the roost at the other end of the field we’re staring at; about 120 yards away.
Very soon after, a big ‘ol tom joins the party. They're calling, he’s strutting, we’re calling, he’s answering. But six hens on his end of the field beats the one plastic hen on our side, so he’s not interested in coming over.
We watch ‘em for a couple hours. The hens meander around. Tom just stays and struts. We’re amazed and entertained by about a dozen deer who come out and literally “frolic” in the field right alongside the turkey. What a wonderful scene. We’ve given up on getting tom’s attention, but we’re enjoying the show.
Suddenly, my son whispers, “Don’t Move!” Marching into the field, right next to our blind, is three young gobblers all in a row. It’s almost cartoonish. Three turkey soldiers marching in line, and even in step right across the front of the blind.
Well, Nathanael has pretty much given up on that old boy on the other side of the field, so…Bang! One less fowl marcher in the band. And even though it’s “only a jake,” my loving son is quick to point out that his jake is one pound heavier with spurs over ¼ inch longer than mine.
Not only are we no longer close to even, he’s way out front. I repeat: What is it with kids these days? Where’s the respect and “honor your father” stuff? Have I raised just another “one-upper” for the world?
Seriously, I’m extremely proud of the boy. We had a great time this year. God blessed us with some amazing scenes in the woods; two wonderful birds to put on the table; and some of the best father-son time a guy could ask for.
Of course, next time, I’m not letting him even take a gun!
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