Rabbit hunt doesn't go so well for Hunting Club
Responding rapidly to an emergency call, the Hunting Club members showed up at my aunt's farm with shotguns in hand. She was inundated with rabbits and needed help thinning them out.
Unfortunately, getting out of the truck felt like stepping into a deep freeze. After 4 inches of snow fell during the night and a stiff north wind kicked up, I knew we'd probably have to hunt fast.
While we uncased shotguns, Jerry Wayne opened his dog box to let the beagles out. They hit the ground, made yellow snow and disappeared across the pasture like supper was waiting on the other side. Jerry Wayne didn't even get to yell "hup!"
"Think they'll come back?" I asked, stuffing shells into my hunting coat and wishing I'd worn everything else in my closet.
Doc flipped his shotgun over and stuffed shells into the magazine.
"He's hoping they will," Doc said. "I don't think Jim Shaw wants his rabbit dogs lost."
Wrong Willie grinned.
"This pasture is supposed to be full of rabbits, and Jim might not want those two back since they just ran straight as an arrow over 300 acres without smelling a thing."
Jerry Wayne whistled and looked anxiously across the pasture.
"I guess they'll come back," he said.
"You have a good clear trail to follow if they don't," the Cap'n observed, looking at the snow.
"My nose is already frozen," Woodrow said. "I might just stay in the truck and wait for you guys. You know, I think I'll get in and drive around the edge of the pasture and wait for y'all on the other side. This'll be like a pheasant drive, and you won't have to walk all the way back to here when you're done."
"You're saying it's too cold and you'd rather drive to the other end," the Cap'n said, translating.
"Yep."
Woodrow made sure we had everything we needed, then started the truck. He followed the fence line, where he was sure there was a road under all the snow. We watched him slow, shift into four-wheel-drive and immediately get stuck.
"We need to go before old Willie frosts up," I said.
Jerry Wayne whistled for the dogs again, but all we heard was the wind.
We fanned out and started forward. I immediately noticed dozens of trails and footprints through the snow. My aunt was right: She had a lot of rabbits way too close to her frozen garden.
Our walk had only begun when two rabbits shot out of a snow-covered grass hummock and took off across the pasture. Shotguns opened up. Snow flew. The bunnies ran away.
"That was some impressive shooting," the Cap'n said.
"I wasn't ready," I said.
Willie pointed at the truck. "I was watching Woodrow get stuck."
Everyone reloaded as Woodrow shifted back and forth to rock the truck. Apparently four-wheel-drive wasn't enough. He got out and examined the stuck tires.
After he apparently couldn't stand it any further, another rabbit shot from a hidden hole and ran evasive maneuvers toward a presumably better hiding spot. Rabbits seemed to be faster than they were when we were young. Again, we blasted the snow, and the rabbit got away.
Jerry Wayne whistled for the beagles again. We heard a distant bark. "The rabbits are back here!" he shouted at the dogs.
"I forgot rabbits get nervous when you just stop walking and wait a minute," Doc said.
"That's good for us old men," Willie said. "I get tired a lot quicker than I used to, so maybe that'll work in our favor."
"Won't make much difference if we can't hit what we're shooting at," the Cap'n said, and he jumped as a covey of quail exploded at his feet. Being completely unprepared for quail, the Cap'n nearly levitated and addressed the retreating birds with a few carefully selected words.
Woodrow got the truck moving again, and he steered carefully along the tree line. Then, in singles and sometimes doubles, rabbits that couldn't take the roaring diesel and all of our walking shot out from beneath the snow.
Despite the cold, the strong wind and our questionable shooting abilities, we began to connect. The sheer number of darting targets increased our chances of hits. While Woodrow maneuvered to the pickup location, we continued our hunt with an increased pace.
With our only source of heat waiting at the other end of the pasture, we made our way across it while feet, noses and trigger fingers became numb. With the weight of several fat cottontails in my vest, I felt pretty good about the hunt.
Woodrow finally reached the other end and sat with the motor running while we completed the last 100 yards. The beagles magically appeared and sat waiting for us. Our shooting declined, and the rest of the way became a mere walk. I heard the truck door open, and Woodrow went around to the back. We watched him wave an arm, open the dog box and load the beagles.
He was back inside the warm cab by the time we arrived. Chilled to the bone, we dropped our full vests into the truck bed and cased our shotguns. Smelling the rabbits, one of the dogs gave a tired bay, then settled down to sleep.
Jerry Wayne stood peering into the dog box for a good 5 minutes.
"That was the best you guys could do?" he asked the sleeping beagles.
"They'd probably ask us the same thing," Doc said.
He had a good point.
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@tx.rr.com.
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