For about the third year in a row the pheasants are abundant in the Southwest. My shoulder is sore from shooting, and black and blue. I burned up about a box of shells a day. When we hit a pocket of pheasants they were thick. It is amazing how many roosters there are in the area. It is not unusual to see fifty or a hundred at a time. Yesterday morning we went out in the fog. We could not find a bird to save our life. How they can manage to be in the hundreds one day and gone the next is unbelievable. In the Afternoon the fog was gone and we were back in the gravy. Very quickly the birds get educated, I would to if I was shot at all day. Our host declared his house a no war zone. Hunters were not allowed to discuss the war in Iraq. He thought armed people discussing the war was too dangerous. As usual we were overfed. The prime rib was excellent, and as predicted there were some granny slapper deserts. My old gun Table Meat warmed up slowly, but soon was on the game with some nice bus stop shots. The bus stop shot is my favorite. You yell at the bird "meet you at the bus stop". Next, you shoot a few feet in front of Mr. Pheasant. If all goes well, not from the pheasants perspective, when he gets to the bus stop there is some shot there. The bus takes him to heaven where he gets 28 virgin hen pheasants for his brave suicide mission.
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