Last weekend I was sick as a dog. Really sick Saturday, then feeling a wee bit better Sunday. Enough to make Sonny a holster for his new sixgun. Barely enough.

Whilst I was at it, he headed up the mountain and called in a nice gobbler {body-size-wise, the beards don't often get alot of length here due to deep heavy snow; freeze/melt breaks them off}.

He came back all fired up, excited to show off the bird.

He says, "Dad, get your gun and I'll call you in one, too".

I says, "I'm sick".

He says, "Don't be a fag".

I says, "Give me a few minutes to get my gun".

We head up, and I'm out of breath and feeling the rumbling in the tummy again for the 47th time in the last two days...

He starts stroking the call. He's pretty good at it.

He says, "I hear one!"

I says, "No way, they headed up the mountain further!" I strike off up the mountain.

He says, "Get back here, THERE they are!!!!!"

I jog back. I says, "WHERE???"

He says, "Off the cliff below, RIGHT THERE!!!!!"

I says, "I don't see them!!!" {He's taller than me...}

He grabs me between the shoulder blades and SHOVES me over a blowdown and I stumble and bumble my way off the side of the bank.

Ah................THERE!!!

Gun goes up, bird goes down!

Thanks Sonny, my tummy feels a bit better now!!