CHICKEN!

Guest Post by Francis Marion

“Chicken!”

The truck ground to a rumbling halt as Buzzard piled out the passenger door with his 10/22 in one hand and a loaded twenty-five round mag in the other.

About thirty yards away a ruffed grouse, supposedly invisible against the backdrop of willows, stood motionless waiting for whatever commotion had broken out to subside.

Buzzard took a bead on the ‘chicken’s’ head and squeezed off a round. The bird replied by promptly flipping onto its back and gave a kick – maybe two – then expired.

“Nice shot Buzz!”

It ain’t easy to hit something as small as a grouse in the head from a standing position – even at thirty yards. Buzzard slowly stalked the dead bird while watching the tall grass behind it. Ruffed grouse have a tendency to travel in large flocks this early in the season. I think Buzz was hoping for more.

As he stepped out of the ditch and into the grass that lined the willows along the forest’s edge the rest of the flock erupted in a frenzy of wings and feathers. He caught one rookie that decided to land in a nearby tree and the rest headed for the hills.

“Hey. Two out of seven ain’t bad shootin’ Buzz, ‘specially for an Indian.” I smiled and laughed as Buzz tossed dinner into the cooler in the box of the truck.

“Careful white man, these are deep woods and they tell few tales.” Buzz chuckled and unloaded his rifle on the side of the old loggin’ road we’d chosen to travel. “Besides, two birds with one shot each is better than one bird with two shots, right dead eye?”

Well, he had me there. Some of my dinner was lookin’ a bit more like burger than grouse and on top of it I was being served a small piece of humble pie ta boot. I quickly changed the subject.

“So,” I restarted, “do you figure we should head er’ home?”

“Yep. It’s gettin’ dark.”

Buzz hopped back into the truck and we headed back towards the highway – or at least, what passes for it in these parts.

“So was it a good day?” I quizzed.

“Yep. It was.” replied Buzz.

I was curious simply because we had started out looking for moose, elk and caribou. But the grouse hunting had been so good we’d given up on larger critters and decided to fill our cooler with chickens instead.

In fact the only big game other than deer we’d found all day was a big ole grizzly boar chewing on a moose carcass. As always, discretion proved to be the better part of valor, so we left the bear and his meal and made tracks for another valley…

As the truck pulled up to the blacktop, I flipped on the lights. It had been quiet in the cab for awhile when suddenly Buzz says: “Ya know, I figure there ain’t nothin’ else I’d rather be doin’.”

“Yep,” I replied in quiet agreement, “there’s nothin’ I love more than a day in the woods with a rifle and some game. Of course, the company is ok too. Most of the time. When he’s not hoggin all the birds to himself….”

“Yep,” agreed Buzz, “and ya know, I figure that’s what rips me off most about all the do-gooders in the world. They wanna steal my bliss.”

Buzz’s mind was off in left field. He had’t even bit. So I did instead.

“You figure?” You could feel Buzz’s train of thought rumbling to the surface from a mile away.

“Sure. You think about it. The only thing you’re born with, the only thing you got is your life. And life, in my opinion, is the be-all-end-all of existence.”

“I certainly hope so.” I replied with a chuckle. “You know Buzz in the dictionary under redundant it says: ‘See redundant’.”

“You’re a jack ass.” Buzz said with a grin. “Seriously. You know the shirts that ask: ‘What’s it all about?’ I figure the answer is ‘life’. Didn’t you say to me once: Your life is your first means and your final end? Well if that’s the case – and I reckon it is –, then if you can’t be happy what the hell is the point to owning and living your life? Am I making any sense to you?”

“I think it was Ayn Rand who said something along those lines but I’ll take whatever I can get.” I was grinning inside.

“Work with me here man,” Buzz was getting all philosophical on me, “what I’m sayin’ is that without the right to pursue happiness what’s the point to any of it? I mean, what kind of sick bastard wants other people to obey his commandments so badly that he enforces them at the expense of a whole society’s happiness?”

“Indeed. What kind of sick bastard would do such a thing to even one person?” I asked rhetorically. “Sort’a makes the whole gun thing seem kind of cursory don’t it?”

“Sure does.” replied Buzz. You could see the light go on in the growing darkness.

“I guess it’s never really been about guns or huntin’ has it?” he asked.

“I figure no.” I replied. “I’ve always maintained that it’s about something far deeper than power. I figure that some folks are so miserable inside that all they know how to do is to drag the rest of us down with ’em. They’re pathetic shadows of human beings who don’t believe in anything and they want you to be a shadow right along with ’em.”

“Misery loves company, eh?” Buzz grinned.

“Yep.” I sighed and ran my hand over the smooth wooden stock of my favorite Model 70 which had sat next to me for the better part of the day.

Buzz caught me in mid thought. “I know what your thinkin’: ‘From my cold dead bloody hands right?”

“Something along those lines I guess.” I grinned and hit the high beams and flipped on my turn signal as a small bull moose stepped up from the woods into the ditch. I pulled out of the side road slowly to take a closer look.

Buzzard chuckled, “We’ll see you tomorrow my friend.”

“And if huntin’s outlawed by then?” I joked.

“Well, I figure we’d better learn to poach!” Buzz laughed.

“Poaching my ass. Why do you think I ‘m best friends with an Indian?” I smiled again and hit the gas. The truck kicked stones and dust out behind us as it hit the blacktop. The little bull moose melted back into the darkness behind a wall of spruce and aspens and Buzz put his head back and closed his eyes.

I wonder what else is rolling around in that Indian’s noggin? With hunting season just beginning I guess I’m gonna find out.