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Jeff in TX
Posts: 2,641 Senior Member
I'm embarrassed on this one, dove flies out of my game pouch
Jeff in TX
Posts: 2,641 Senior Member
Went dove hunting last night. Killed 6 lost two. One landed in the tank (pond for everyone outside of Texas) about 10 yards off shore. Kept waiting for the wind to push it to shore. Nope, either a big bass or catfish hit the dove on the surface and the dove disappeared, never to be seen again! Hope what ever got it enjoyed the meal!
Now for my embarrassing moment. Three of the six birds I hit were dead when I picked them up, limp and not a twitch minus the one in the tank. The other two were still alive so I popped their heads off and put them in my game pouch on my vest. My buddy and I were sitting 10' apart shooting the bull when I felt flapping in the vest. I started to reach around and grab the one that was flopping. As soon I started to reach in, the dove flew out and went right past my buddies face. We both had this look of total dumbfoundness and what just happened. Then we bursted into laughter and as that was a first for both of us. Guess it could have been worse and he flew out inside the truck on the way back to the house. Guess he was more stunned than dead!:bang:
Now for my embarrassing moment. Three of the six birds I hit were dead when I picked them up, limp and not a twitch minus the one in the tank. The other two were still alive so I popped their heads off and put them in my game pouch on my vest. My buddy and I were sitting 10' apart shooting the bull when I felt flapping in the vest. I started to reach around and grab the one that was flopping. As soon I started to reach in, the dove flew out and went right past my buddies face. We both had this look of total dumbfoundness and what just happened. Then we bursted into laughter and as that was a first for both of us. Guess it could have been worse and he flew out inside the truck on the way back to the house. Guess he was more stunned than dead!:bang:
Distance is not an issue, but the wind can make it interesting!
John 3: 1-21
John 3: 1-21
Replies
When I was a kid, I was squirrel hunting with my dad and uncle. I shot a squirrel with my 410 and my uncle picked it up and put it in his vest. After a few minutes there's movement in the vest. My uncle reaches back to break it's neck, and it bites the hell out of his thumb. Then runs out and up a tree. The uncle is bleeding, but furious. Never did get that squirrel.
I shot a grouse and it was flapping on the ground like it suffered a head-shot. I wait for it to slow down a bit, pick it up, prepare for vest insertion, and it flies right out of my hand. Scared the hell out of me. I stood there like a dumb ass watching it go while holding a shotgun.
Adam J. McCleod
- George Orwell
At the shot, it crumpled to the ground. I picked it up and brought it back to the car where we arranged its feathers before wrapping it in a towel so that we could get it mounted, then put it in the boot ( trunk for you heathens) next to the dog. About 5 mins later the dog started barking........opening the boot we found a wild eyed dog, a shredded towel and a very much alive bird. After smacking it over the head, we thought it was finished and wrapped it up again.
On the way home about 6 hrs later we stopped at our taxidermists place to arrange to have it mounted. When he started to unwrap it it came alive again so he put it to sleep with chloroform ( ( I think) and then straightened all its feathers before laying it in his freezer with other dead birds ( Ducks, pheasants etc.)
The following day he rang dad and asked us to call by. When we arrived he opened his freezer to show us a pile of shredded game birds that were other peoples trophies. The damn thing had woken up and shredded everything it touched.
I dont know how he explained it to the other hunters, but he used a shredded pheasant as part of the mount so that I ended up with the hawk mounted on a small log with a cock pheasant in its talons and its wings cupped over it.
It finally escaped from me many years later when I went through my divorce cos my ex wife gave it away without my knowledge. Never forgave her for that............amongst other things.
:yikes:
Jerry
John 3: 1-21
EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH
It was my day off and I’m just a quiet single guy in no meaningful relationship, so I’m doing what I enjoy the most. Riding my motorcycle.
I never dreamed that slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.
I was on Brice Street – a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.
It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really wasn’t going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it — it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.
Animal lovers never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!
Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his beady little eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he screamed and leapt! I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, “Banzai!”
or maybe, “Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” The leap was nothing short of spectacular…
He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.
Snarling, hissing, and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity.
As I was dressed only in a light T-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing…
I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the throw.
That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home.
No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel.
This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel.
This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!
Somehow he caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact, he landed squarely on my BACK and resumed his rather antisocial and extremely distracting activities. He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not improved. Not improved at all.
His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.
TORQUE.
This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it.
The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.
The squirrel screamed in anger.
The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.
I screamed in, well, I just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back.
The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder.
With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.
This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle…my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.
About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.
As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity.
It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.
Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now, the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
Finally I got the upper hand…I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked…sort of.
Spectacularly sort of…so to speak.
Picture a new scene.
You are a cop.
You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.
Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.
I heard screams.
They weren’t mine…
I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street.
I would have returned to ‘fess up’ (and to get my glove back). I really would have.
Really.
Except for two things.
First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody’s front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver’s seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it.”
Anyway.
That was one thing.
The other?
Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me.
That is one dangerous squirrel.
And now he has a patrol car.
A somewhat shredded patrol car but it was all his.
I took a deep breath, turned on my turn signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of Band-Aids.
I drove straight home and did what lonely, single guys do. Sat on the sofa, watched sports, got drunk and pondered the reason for my lack of “couple” status …… and the existence of squirrels. I’ll let you know should I figure out either.
:jester:
Jerry
John 3: 1-21
Smugly, thinking of the awe this pair of partners would bestow on me, I dozed off in a sun-puddle beneath a large white oak.
Until that one damn squirrel came alive in my hunting vest. I don't know who scared who worst upon awakening, but it probably wasn't me.
My shotgun was unloaded, since I'd "limited out". Four times I reloaded, single shot, chasing this rat through the leaves. I was gaining on him when I realized I couldn't stop to reload if I had any chance of gaining on him.
So, I went to the knife at about the same time a pinky thick saw briar caught me, very well I might add, across the throat. If it had just been a vine I'd not remember it over 4 decades later.
Back at the truck, I proudly dumped 7 very dead squirrels onto the tailgate. Dad and Bob contributed nothing. I was finally where I wanted to be...supreme hunter among his peers.
Bob, a Korean war vet, looked at my blood encrusted face and neck and said..."I guess that blue jay finally kicked your ass."
Mike
N454casull
Funny, we had a pheasant reanimate in the back of my topper on the s10 I had then. We opened the back hatch, out he flushes and all three of missed him. 😡
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I did have a zombie mountain quail once.
The bird flushed from my right to my left in a pretty steep climb, and I solidly smoked him with the Model 12 upon which he ceased ALL activity and crashed to the ground in plain sight. We had a young fellow along with us who needed indoctrination on cleaning birds, so, no time like the present - it's easier when they're still warm.
So, we get this quail swiftly beheaded, de-gutted, and looking like a miniature Butterball turkey.
This was before Camelbacks, so we carried our drinking water in the square, 2-quart military canteens on shoulder straps. We'd fill them half full, freeze them, and then fill up the rest of the way so we'd have cold water to drink.
So, we use this ice water to rinse off the carcass of this quail that's been beheaded, de-gutted, and looking like a miniature Butterball turkey, and it starts twitching and pulsating like the heart that was ripped out in Temple of Doom.
"Nothing is safe from stupid." - Zee
We were riding down the road in a Chevy sedan with two **** hounds in the trunk with me in the back seat and Uncle Tom driving and
Curley in the right front seat.
We see a **** run across the road, uncle Tom stops and yells for me to get the ****. I jump out with my Sports King .22lr pistol catch up to the ****
and shoot it in the head, pick it up and throw it on the rubber mat in the front seat passenger area and away we go.
In about two minutes we see Curley with his feet up on the dashboard and not too happy. Seems the **** came to life and got him all upset.
The **** then tried to crawl up under the dashboard and hide.
We then went back to Uncle Tom's house in town with Curley, with his feet on the dashboard telling Uncle Tom to hurry up and get there.
We get there and get the dogs out of the trunk; but, the **** is still half under the dash. They tell me to drag it out while they take the sane approach and hold back the dogs.
I got a hold on the **** and flung it I to the yard and they turned loose the dogs, then we had at least a 10 minute dog/**** fight. The
**** kept its lower jaw on it's chest thereby preventing the dogs from getting a hold on the **** throat.
Finally, we had to shoot the **** again.
I shot a pair of paradise ducks once both low in flight taking off, both went down, I left the gun on the other side of the fence to retrieve them myself and as I approached, first one then the other got up and flew away. Moral,never leave your gun behind.
Another time a friend and I took home the mornings bag of mallards in a sack in the boot, tipped them out on the garage bench in preparation for plucking then one flew out the open door, Moral, Your ducks ain't dead until they're dead.
I gotta say Jerry I had more than one laugh reading about your Squirrel battle.
Reuters, Dec 2020.
A number of years ago I was deer and elk hunting in the Colorado Flat Top mountains. I had stumbled across a small, out of the way meadow, and decided to just sit and watch. I had not been there for 10 minutes when I heard some very heavy and fast footsteps. I turned toward the steps, and there was a doe just about to run over me. When I turned, she did too, and a collision was avoided.
But, there was a nice buck with her, who ran across the meadow. I shot, and managed to turn him even though I missed. My second shot dropped him. He was about 75 yards away, and was laying down with his head up. Instead of taking a deliberate killing shot from where I was, or approach with my rifle ready, I slung it over my shoulder. My thinking was that I would finish him as I got closer.
Instead, he jumped up and bounded away. I threw a shot in his general direction, but knew I had missed. I searched for sign for at least an hour, but all I found was a chunk of fat about 3 inches long, 2 inches wide and 2 inches deep. I think I creased his rump or back just enough to stun him, but not enough to kill him. He was one of the better bucks I've even shot at, too.
Not one of my prouder moments, but stuff like this happens.
Do you feel a little better now, Jeff?
Gun control laws make about as much sense as taking ex-lax to cure a cough.
I do like a nice Blazer;
Did it have piped lapels?
The dusting of snow made following his blood trail easy. We tracked this deer for over a mile past my neighbors ranch and then onto next ranch. Every few hundred yards we'd find a place where he laid down and bleed a lot, but we kept pushing him. Finally after a mile and half we walked up on the deer, laying down with his head on his front legs staring away from us. We thought he was dead. My buddy walked up and grabbed him by his antlers to get a good look at him. About the time he lifted his head the deer jumped up and took off like a lighting bolt. He ran across the road and into a 150 acre corn field which hadn't been cut. He was a nice 8 pt hit in his back hip. We tracked him a while longer until the snow melted and we lost the blood trail. That folks was the last time we saw that deer! It was a long what the heck just happened walk back to the trucks!
John 3: 1-21