Saturday, January 14, was the last day of dove season.  The day before the last day of dove season I was sadly preparing to put my one-ounce loads to bed. I struggled with this mission; deliberately avoiding the ritual because it was the twelfth hour and I wanted more than anything to have one more go at those dark meat delicacies. To be honest - having an opportunity to bag my limit is right up there with Red Velvet Cake ice cream.
Where are my hunting friends, I asked myself? I searched my soul for a reason. Have they left me out because I can’t remember to alert shooters 200 yards away of a flight of birds through a soft whistle, rather than screaming out “incoming at 3 o’clock”. Don’t they know how crushed I will be when I hear about skies blackened with birds, barrels shot till they melted, and the final reward of pounds of perfectly prepared purlieu?
I had nearly given up any hope of joining the ranks of my fellow sportsmen when Mr. K called the Sergeant Major with an invite. The two are hunting/golfing buddies, and since both are fully aware that all missions must be approved through the wife, I was in. Besides, that’s what friends of husbands are for.
The night before, the Sergeant Major packed the truck with the proper gear and I laid out multiple pieces of hunting attire. A layering of “field dressings” would be necessary for me, considering the temperature would be a ‘scorching’ 27 degrees. Yes, some people will do anything for a grilled dove breast stuffed with a fresh jalapeno and a dollop of Monterey Jack.
The following morning (the night sky still heavy with stars) hunters began arriving one by one. Thank goodness someone had the foresight to fashion a barrel into a makeshift fireplace. If not, I would have frozen to death before seeing the light of day. We gathered around the hot flames, chatting, sipping hot coffee, and recalling hunting stories while toasting our cold fingers before heading out to the sunflower field.
The temperature may have been below freezing but watching those doves en masse, dipping and darting as they descended for a morning snack of sunflower seeds is a memorable sight, to say the least. When the shoot was over around 9 AM, most had their 15-bird limit. I failed to achieve this goal. That’s what happens when you forget to change out the diffuser choke for a light mod. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
Before parting ways, we were treated to a hearty breakfast by our wonderful friend. Another great season filed under wonderful memories. That’s what friends are for.
Oh, but wait. Just because dove season is over doesn’t mean shooting ceases to exist. There are plenty of ways to keep the barrel warm such as participating in sporting clays, skeet or trap. Clay target shooting sports provide the hunter with a wide variety of situations that mimic bird flight patterns, which can greatly improve your execution in the field. However, I had a better idea.
In all my years of hunting (42 to be exact), I cannot recall ever shooting a rifle. So I headed to another field to meet yet another gracious host.  Mr. D is an expert in ballistics and military weaponry, (the Sergeant Major is too, however he chose golf to fill the void). Mr. D’s cache includes a unique piece of equipment I have never seen before - a semi-auto rifle that he crafted himself. It was so cool looking I just had to try it out.
After firing dozens of big brass bullets at a paper target positioned 105 yards away, I’m hooked...I’m also in trouble. I’ve never had the urge to hunt deer or turkey (been on many a dog drive, bagged a turkey – CANNOT to sit still) but I may have to convince the Sergeant Major that a deer stand and a funny looking rifle are in my future. Like I said, that’s what friends are for.