The Bitch bitches (again)

Ignoring wiser council I decided to get a fifth opinion on this turkey hunting business. As an experiment I also decided to see what getting out of bed at 5:00 would be like after guzzling a bottle of Chianti the night before. As experiments go it was probably not my finest hour but, as I am sure you will agree, unless you try these things you will never know. So once again I climbed the north face of the Eiger but this time with a pounding head and little black dots floating in my eyes (where do those dots come from)? Yet again the wily bird evaded us and this time even Tonto gave up so I was back at Chateau Coffee (sans le meat) by 11:00. The good news is that turkey season is now over and the next item on the agenda is Dove. The even better news is that one cannot hunt Dove before 12:00, finally I shall be both hunting and lying in my pit; bonus! Because it was such a nice afternoon (and not as the Boss pointlessly suggested because I was hung-over) we spent the afternoon hanging out on the deck. Of course ever silver lining has a cloud and my Saturday afternoon sloth meant that we had to do the Sam’s Club run on Sunday. Don’t ever be tempted to do this folks; the Sunday crowd is even scummier than the Saturday crowd, I expect the regular dross are in Church leaving the dregs of the dross to bother me.

Note to Sam Walton. If you place a row of cobblestones between the doors and the parking lot this will ensure that flatbed carts get a good shaking as your customers leave. This will result in at least two items falling off much to the amusement of your minimum wage retardees. Oh wait a minute you already did this. Well you could also make your parking lot with a 5% slope. This will make it impossible to let go of a cart that weighs 400lbs for fear it will run down the hill and smash into some poor bastards truck at about 35mph. What’s that? You already covered that? Of course you have. Back in the UK they have the Monopolies Commission (ironic note here, why is there only one)? They stop stores like Sam’s stitching up a neighborhood. Sadly Virginia has the finest politicians that money can buy which is presumably why the nearest Costco is 95 miles away in North Carolina.

So after Sam’s we are back at the Coffee House, unloading the truck, loading the shop, cleaning, restocking and prepping for Monday. Finally we are done and we set off for home, cutting through the court complex as a short cut. There we spot a freshly detailed Sheriff’s car with our local trustee sitting on a stool admiring his handiwork. I stopped to exchange pleasantries with the Bro’s and as I drove off I reflected, not for the first time, what a far more relaxed life he has than I. It is only a matter of days before I expose myself (so to speak) as the Smalltown flasher and end up in the town pokey for a 6 stretch. Three hots and a cot, a little spot of fetching and carrying and what is more washing the Sheriff’s car is infinitely easier than washing the brute of a Ram that I have to clean.

Easy street here I come, Zzzzip.

TCB

Coffee and Hunting (part IV)

Well it’s official; there are no turkeys in Kissbotty County. Once again I was up at 5:00 am and ready to do battle with the wily bird. We went back to the original happy hunting ground, the one that involves climbing to the top of Kilimanjaro. We climbed and climbed and climbed and heard and saw nothing. By this time I suspect that Tonto my faithful tracker and guide is getting a touch embarrassed at our abject failure to even hear a bird so he decides to move us on. We climbed down the other side of the mountain and back up the next mountain. After an hour he moves us on and hence another mountain, and so the morning dragged on. We are hunting on 500 acres and I swear to God we walked 499 of them. 5 hours later we gave up and emerged from the woods onto the dirt track road but about 2 miles from the truck. What a morning. I got back, kicked my boots off and decided to have 5 minutes on the sofa. After a few seconds I realized how much more comfortable I would be if I put my feet up. Then how much more comfortable, if I put my head down and before I knew what was happening, well you can guess can’t you. Of I course I might be feeling a little more manly had I brought the meat home but alas and alack it was not to be.

In an earlier blog I may have rashly said how great it was to be at one with nature. Let me tell you that from now on I am going to be at one with my mattress until at least 11.00 am on a Saturday morning and all the turkeys in Virginia can kiss my hairy old English bottom all over.

Coffee and the Bobcat

Once again the elusive gobbler beat me, still at least I had some fun, Coffee Bitch and nature at one. There is definitely something to be said for sitting out in the woods first thing in the morning. I am camouflaged from head to toe, with camo gloves and a face veil. Comfortably ensconced under a tree I fancy that as long as I don’t move I am invisible and certainly a small herd of deer agreed as they ambled by with 10 feet of me. Then, just I was starting to relax and feeling one of those exotic eyelid movies coming on I spotted a Bobcat. It was huge, spitting and snarling and all teeth and claws. On reflection it might have been someone’s pet ginger tomcat but it was quite a size I can tell you. He was cautiously prowling through the woods, oblivious to my presence and getting closer all the time. When he got to within 2 feet I threw my hands up and made a dreadful hissing noise. The cat hardly expected the tree to come to life and leapt about 10 feet in the air. It spun around and started windmilling its legs so when it hit the ground it took off like, well a scolded cat I suppose. For my part I hardly expected it to vent its bladder in fear. Oh yes, as it span around in mid air it did a ghastly impression of a Catherine wheel of urea and lavishly soaked me. From bitter, bitter experience I can tell you that the one thing worse than the smell of tomcat urine is the smell of tomcat urine drying in the morning sun. When we all hooked up at the end of another turkey free day the very first thing my hunting chums said was “What is that awful smell?” When I told the story they laughed until they were sick, the heartless bastards. I would like to be able to tell you that I got my revenge as they had to hold their heads out of the window on the drive home. Sadly we were using my truck so now the new car smell has been replaced with the used public bathroom smell.

I don’t mind Mother Nature taking the piss I just wish that she wouldn’t keep the catheter in the icebox.

Fortunately for tomcats everywhere I won’t be hunting next week, as I am off to see FOTL1 and FOTL2 graduate college. FOTL1 has completed her Master’s Degree with a 4.0 GPA and has been accepted into the premiere college for her discipline to study for her doctorate. She has also been given a teaching position so I suppose I will have to start calling her Professor FOTL1. FOTL2 has completed her Batchelors Degree with honors and has been accepted into her chosen college as a graduate student working towards her Masters Degree. As a result of some very astute planning by myself, they both graduate from the same college at the same time so I will not have to waste two weekends pretending to be proud of the little helions.

Now to let you into a little secret. I left school at 16. I only mention this in the hope that you will join me in shoving Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. (to give it, its full title) up our collective bottys.

All together now, one, two, three, PUSH

Coffee and Hunting

Yes indeedy I actually went huntin’ with my buddies and here is how it went down

CB’s diary

Got up at 5:15, it is dark and cold
Drove miles to the middle of nowhere
Climbed the tallest mountain in Virginia
Nearing the top, heard turkey gobble
Answered with turkey caller using last remaining joule of energy
Hear faint gobble
Hang around for 5 hours
Go home, no breakfast


Turkey’s diary

Wake up at sunrise
Flutter out of tree
Have sex with my hens
Make weird gobble noise to let the ladies know who’s their Daddy
Hear “hunters” dicking around with Walmart turkey call
Move ladies to next county, gobbling as we leave
Breakfast on bugs, berries and nuts.
Plans for tomorrow? Probably more sex and food, what a life.

Actually it turned out to be somewhat addictive and although I can’t believe it myself I am booked to do it all again next Saturday. We pitted our wits against a turkey and the turkey won. I blame it all on television myself.

The Bitch doesn't go hunting

In order to tell this little tale I need to set a scene and explain some cultural differences so bear with me here.

In England we have very few open spaces and no guns so hunting is pretty much a non-existent sport. In addition the champagne socialists have banned fox hunting on the basis that the fox did not get a vote as to whether or not he should be torn apart alive by a pack of dogs. England has neither moose, nor elk nor bears, so all in all hunting is restricted to small birds. If you are fortunate enough to be the friend of a multimillionaire (or indeed a multimillionaire yourself) you might get the opportunity to walk a 1000-acre grouse moor, and here is how your weekend might go.

Friday night, arrive at stately home for a nice leisurely dinner and cocktails. Saturday morning, arise at 9:00 for a spot of breakfast. Actually the full English is a rare treat. Eggs, sausage, bacon, kidneys, black pudding, kedgeree, kippers and so on and on and on. Incidentally for you culture vultures, breakfast is the only meal where the English gentleman serves himself, the butler just stands there, strange but true. Then at around 11.00 everyone piles off to the moor to bag a few grouse, scared up by the beaters. Then a spot of luncheon and we are done.

So back to the Smalltown Coffee House. It turns out that this is the start of Spring gobbler season (turkey to you) and my gentlemen hunters have invited me join them. We are making the arrangements over a coffee and things start to head south faster than Britney’s career. It seems that I have to be sitting under a tree before the sun comes up. Who would have guessed that turkeys spend the night in trees and you have to blow their heads off just as they are getting out of bed. There was to be no cocktails, no black pudding and worst of all no lying in bed until 9:00, in fact the final knife to my heart was that they arranged to collect me at 5:30 Saturday morning. I did, however, have one tiny out. Apparently the boys (who let me tell you are no spring chickens) do not go out in the rain so my instructions were to look out of the window at 5.15 and if it was raining, assume that they would not show. So it came to pass that with trembling fingers I pulled back the drapes to discover that God had answered my prayers and it was indeed hammering down. With a scream of joy I leapt back into the pit, crossed no man’s land and entered enemy territory. Of course I was rebuffed with the usual “Get away from me” but hey, at least I wasn’t hunting.

On reflection perhaps I could have removed my camo and boots before trying it on with the boss but when in Kissbotty……..