Carnie's Comments
It's Throwback Thursday - just a minute to remember the good ol' days.
I often think of my late father, George, at this time of year.
Mid-September meant it was time for him to put away the golf clubs and the spikes and shine up the shotgun and the boots for hunting season.
We'd pack a lunch and head out to the country, looking for ducks and geese, partridge and prairie chicken.
We always came home with something. Dad was good with his pump-action shotgun. I clearly recall one day he jumped out of the stubble and blasted three shots into the sky and dropped four ducks. I thought he was the best ever.
My job was to retrieve those bleeding birds. It wasn't pleasant but I did it.
The work that followed wasn't exactly enjoyable either. If the ducks and geese were fat enough, we'd pluck 'em and roast 'em. Dad would just cut the breasts out of the little ones.
The evisceration process was the worst but I sure did enjoy eating the hearts and livers when dad fried 'em up in butter on the stove.
You'd think I'd grow up to be a hunter but I didn't. It always seemed like a lot of hard work to me.
And, you know, I can buy a rotisserie chicken for $12.00 and I don't have to pluck it.