DOVE HUNTING IS FOR OLD MEN

[Mike Franzen]

DOVE HUNTING IS FOR OLD MEN

Sitting in the shade on a swivel seat, sipping sweet tea between shots and Connecting with a bird as it meandered by while ordering Lady to go fetch is about all there is to it. Right? Well, not if you’re in southern Georgia, the buckle of the Sun Belt. Two old men took to the field Sunday afternoon right about the time the mercury reached 103 degrees and the breeze wasn’t even stiff enough to move the wings on a wind powered Mojo decoy. These two looked like the types that would drink water from a garden hose, ride a bike without a helmet or go outside without sun screen. One of them had an injured back that caused him lean forward when he stood up like he was reporting on the imminent approach of the eye of the hurricane. The other, had a broke leg and was ordered by the doctor to take it easy and use crutches to keep the weight off it. Deemed too much of a bother, said crutches were discarded as quickly as the docs advice.

Sitting near the edge of the tree line they were taking their fair share of the game. No dogs were fetching their birds. Fearlessly they waded across the sunflower rows braving sand spurs, fire ants and Pig Weed to retrieve the quarry. The one with the broke leg, who was wearing shorts, decided to go stand in the middle of that hell garden so his birds would quit falling in the woods where the timber rattlers considered anything lying about to be their property. The other one shot a bird, went to the middle of the field and shot another one again that far away. Hurrying back to reload and throwing the dead into his bucket he dripped with sweat. His shirt and pants looked like he had lost control of his bladder several hours earlier.

But the birds kept coming. Crooked backs and broken limbs were of little significance. The old men were caught up in the circumstances. They didn’t seem to give a damn about the heat, the dust or the sauna like humidity. Shoot and reload. Shoot and reload. Hurry out and get the bird. It was a race against the fire ants to see who would be first to claim the prize. It went on for hours. And then, it was over. The Doves went to roost and guns went silent. After witnessing that I thought dove hunting is for old men.