The first grouse hunt of the season is going to have to wait a week because “She Who Must Be Obeyed” had her knee replaced and Seamus and I have been delegated the jobs of nurse and gofer. I’m OK with the situation because I know the roles will be reversed sometime in the future, but I’m chomping at the bit to drudge the thickets and swamps for early season grouse and do so in my mind. I settle for the next best thing and rehash what I’ll need and gather, sort and fondle “stuff”.
Seamus isn’t quite sure of what’s happening, or not happening; he gets up early, makes sure I do too, and hangs around like a fly. He gets an extra walk every day and his stuff is ready to go too – although if he sees his bell and beeper collar, well, I’ve learned to pack it away without his seeing me do it.
Waiting for the opportunity to go opens a lot of time to make choices: what gauge gun do I take (I’m careful not to ask out loud, eyebrows would be raised as to why I was able to make a choice.) But after the 20’s, 16’s and 12’s are handled, cleaned and shouldered many times each, it’s the Ruger Red Label 20 gauge that gets the nod and extra shells are loaded.
When the time does come when I pack the Jeep and load Seamus, give me a break …keep right, I’ll be in the left lane all the way.