Whitesburg KY

Struttin’ Time

Here’s a real turkey of a story

No one has contacted me about killing deer or turkey, so I guess opening week of the hunting season wasn’t exactly a good week.

Things are about to change, starting now. Things get tougher when I hunt, because the turkeys know I’m out there and tremble in their boots. (I really haven’t seen them wearing boots, I must say.)

Some news to pass along is this: Through the years I’ve noticed that fall turkey flocks always feed with the rising and setting sun at their backs. I am no expert, but that is fact. When you set up, try to keep that in mind.

I got some bad reactions to last week’s column, as a few readers were upset that I talked about leaving this journey we call life. They all agreed we all must pay that debt, but they don’t want me to let them think I’m taking an early train. Let me assure you I’m not. If anyone tells you I’ve done anything to end this journey, ask for an investigation. I didn’t do it.

Such was the case this spring, right after the spring hatch came off . I was going to cut grass, started the mower, started to leg up, bam, right between the eyes. I went down like a French prize fighter. The next thing I remember were the words, “Get up, I told you to cut the grass, not lie down and take a nap.” The blood was pouring, my head was spinning, ears ringing, and I couldn’t focus. A six or seven pound baby turkey — of course it had to be a little gobbler — had flown at top speed and hit me dead between the eyes.

Of course he met his demise and I almost met mine, but I made it. So remember that things happen fast, and we might leave here sooner than we thought, but I’ll try to stick around.

That may have happened last spring, but right now I just can’t remember! See you around town this week.

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