“We’ll Find Out” – Timber Timbre

The dog and I were just out  for a little stroll through the back forty. I had brought the shotgun along, (because it was finally legal to do so) but with no real intention of using it.  The leaves were still on the trees, mosquitoes still buzzed and evening temperatures were in the mid-twenties. This was more of an exercise in acclimatization. Preparation for the upcoming season. The proverbial dipping of a toe. Just a little walk to shake off the cobwebs. Dress rehearsal.  It wasn’t a hunt. I didn’t even tie my boots, just sort of tucked my laces in.

As soon as we hit the bush though, the dogs nose went hard to the ground and seconds later she flushed a bird.

I had yet to clean a shotgun, let alone swing one. Hadn’t done any work in the field with the dog. Hadn’t even really walked the woods since spring.  Yet somehow ten minutes into the season I was walking back home with a bird in the game bag.

It was all far too easy. Something hunting Ruffed Grouse with a flushing dog should never really be. A bad omen, no doubt. Cursed?  . . .  We’ll find out.