Wandering Aimlessly


How To Kill A Turkey

by Phil Burkhouse


It’s Thursday morning, March 31st, and as I look out the window at the bird feeder, I grin when I note the goldfinches are beginning to live up to their name—they are turning gold.  Mary strolls through the room with her usual sage advice, “It’s Thursday; what are you going to write about?”  That was a question I had just been pondering without much success until I began thinking about turkey hunting with the grandsons.

My youngest grandson, Isaac, aka Zeke, was eight last spring gobbler season and had plans to hunt with his dad on the youth gobbler day.  Several days before the season arrived Ralph was called out to fight forest fire in distant lands.  Ralph phoned and asked if I could take Zeke.  On short notice this created a small problem that was rectified by having Little Bear hunt with his dad and Zeke, Big Jake, and I hunt together.  I’m never thrilled with two youth hunters trying to capture a spring gobbler while sitting together, but necessity is the mother of invention.



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