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When we lived on the farm in Mount Pleasant, my dad was an avid hunter. He trained a Beagle, Bootsie, who was the family dog, to be quite a hunter. She could trail rabbits and flush out pheasants like nobody’s business. On this day, dad had a hankering for some pheasant. So, the plan was we would go hunting and he would get something to give to mom to prepare for dinner. But as a 6 or 7 year old, I had no idea what all would be entailed in this unfolding plan. Sure enough, Bootsie did her part and flushed several pheasant out of the underbrush and they flew into the open. Dad raised his shotgun and picked off the first one that came out as it flew to his right. As we located the area where the bird went down, I had my first opportunity to get an upclose look at a ring-necked pheasant. The bird was big and beautiful with a white ring around its neck and teal green and purple color markings just above the ring.
Shooting this bird happened within the first ten minutes that we went out. And although he was pleased to have something to take back to mom, he was not ready to hang up his coat and call it a day. You could see him thinking about how to get the bird back to mom so he could continue hunting. And that’s where I came in. My dad wore a hunting vest with lots of pockets and pouches for shells and places to put game to carry. In his aha moment, he takes the vest off and helps me to get it on. Now remember, my dad is 6’5” tall, so the vest was like putting a colorless serape onto this little boy. After he zipped up the vest, he stuffed the pheasant into the front pocket on my chest. But the pheasant could not fit entirely into the pouch so the feet stuck out up towards my face. The vest was cumbersome and now weighted with a rather large DEAD bird inside. We are way out in the field far from the house and barn. After my dad gets me ready to send home, he whistles to get my mom’s attention to let her know he’s sending a bird her way. Some people can whistle so loud, you’d think they were breaking the sound barrier making sound waves. My dad’s whistle was like that, it was not terribly unpleasant, but it was extremely loud and ear-piercing. Sure enough, we can make out a small figure on the porch waving her hand in the distance. Dad motions in the direction to the house and I knew I was to take this bird home.
Off I went, but I was so young, I didn’t understand death and birds. I saw my dad shoot this bird and it did not move from the time we found it and he loaded it into his vest. I was unprepared for what happened next. With this vest on, I felt something inside the pouch flinch. I stopped. The feet that were only inches from my face began to move going from limp to a kind of scratching motion. As I stood there feeling the movement intensify on top of my chest, I decided that this bird wasn’t dead. Somehow, he was faking it and was waiting until now to make his break from becoming a family dinner. I would have taken this stupid vest off if I could have figured out how, but the zipper was stuck. I began to run from the field to the worn path that had tractor tracks. I can feel this bird trying to spread out its wings and now the pouch in the vest is vibrating with all this movement. The feet are also moving up and down, in and out of the vest as the bird is trying to run. At this point, I am completely freaked out, not knowing what is going on. I thought to myself, “dead things are not supposed to move. Right?” I thought dad must have made a big mistake putting this bird in the vest. He should have shot it a few more times, but as far as I was concerned, this bird was very much alive. I am now running as fast as I can coming up the tractor path to the yard and towards my mother. She has her hand over her mouth trying to hide her concern and smile. My mom was terrified of birds. She had a bad experience with a headless chicken as a child. So, the concern in her face made sense to me. But the half smile did not. The only thing I could figure is that it must have been quite a sight to see this boy running with a look of sheer terror in his eyes as his entire upper body encased by the vest moved back and forth, up and down. As I run to her, I scream, “get it off, get it off!” She offered soothing words, “it’s ok, honey. It’s ok. The bird is dead. It’s body just doesn’t realize it yet.” Once the vest was off, I stood there in shock shaking my body as if to shake off the vest and experience. It is almost 50 years later, but I can still feel the bird move on my chest and see those feet moving near my eyes.
Filed under Marriage & Family, Parenting & Kids, Stories from my Childhood
Tags: childhood story, children, critter, death, family, hunting, life, parenting, pheasant, scary
1 Comment
July 31, 2008 at 7:27 pm
This was always one of our favorite stories!