It’s a really cold day here in the beautiful land of South Dakota. Even Bowie can attest to that, as she snuggled up in Country Man’s arm. More of a headlock, really.
And when you’re faced with below zero temperatures, the most natural thing to do is stay inside, eat and veg out in front of the tube, right?
As soon as we got in the house Sunday, he was dressing me in camo while I protested. He was dressing me, and I had no intentions of making this easy on him.
Afterward, we hopped in the pickup and headed over to some promising spots, hoping to find me the perfect buck.
I munched on sunflower seeds, and squealed like a pig when I found a mini-Snickers bar in the back of his pickup. Not real sure how long it had been there, but I ate it, nonetheless.
Now, I don’t claim to be the great white hunter or anything. I mostly took pictures and nodded in agreement when he pointed some decent bucks out and about, as they openly exposed themselves to all the neon orange waiting in the trees. Beautiful? Yes. Thinking straight during rut? No.
So we drove around, shutting the ignition off and rolling down windows to keep a low profile. It’s November … in South Dakota … remember? This is the stuff I deal with.
But all is well that end’s well, right? Because about 45 minutes later, we spotted some bucks chasing a doe (isn’t she special?) and they kindly stood there, watching us approach. He didn’t have a chance with Annie Oakley here.
Another memory is made, scrumptious food is stored in the freezer (and some of it off to a local reservation), and these dreadful camo clothes are back in the tote for another cold, windows rolled down season known as rifle hunting.