Happy weekend, friends! Anyone teal hunting tomorrow for the early season? I am still up in the air… It is so hot and buggy, the thought of waders seems a bit daunting. Could I just wear shorts underneath them? What if there is an alligator in the pond and what if he decides I look like a tasty breakfast? Is there such a thing as too much bug spray? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. I will keep you posted though as to whether or not we venture into the ponds to take a whack at some early season teal. I could really go for one of these sandwiches, now that I am thinking about it…

Wow. I can get carried away, huh? Back to the story at hand. Wednesday’s hunt started off slow. Real slow. Like, “Dad what are we doing out here?””Bear, I have no idea it is so hot outside and WHERE ARE THE BIRDS?”

But… Like I said. Wait. It. Out. One minute I busying myself taking silly snapchats of myself literally melting into my dove stool while my dad was just laughing at me, and the next – boom. Literally, boom. That’s the sound the shotgun makes, right? We were getting bombed by doves and we were shooting back. The next hour or so was pretty busy, between shooting [at] doves and running to pick them up, and shooting another while we were out searching for the first one. Ok… I am sure I am making it sound like we both limited out in an hour. And I am making it sound like my dad didn’t go pick up my birds for me since we didn’t take Dixie. Not the case, unfortunately. But I did knock down 8 or so, and my dad makes a pretty good bird dog if I do say so myself! He bagged a few, himself as well. You’re the best, Otis!

What’s the moral of the story? Just when you think you should pack up your bag and call it a day, wait. Just a fewwwww more minutes. It was completely worth the wait, and mmm mmm mmm are those doves going to taste good.