Of course on the friday to leave, it was raining.  My father adamantly ordered me to keep the recently installed carpet spotless, and wanted me to bring up this deceptively heavy entertainment center (purchased at a thrift store) to further the upgraded luxuriousness.  After not locating one tarp big enough to cover the whole monstrosity sitting in my truck, just three smaller ones, I devised a clever miracle of engineering needing the three smaller tarps, about thirty feet of string, and, of course, some duct tape.  Having found no string, or duct tape for that matter (How can my father have no duct tape??), the plan had another revision in which a twelve foot piece of plastic twine will (hopefully) substitute the aforementioned string and tape.  Finally, after spending an extra hour, numerous busted knuckles and one really bad paper cut that probably needed urgent medical care, I was off.  Through the torrential downpour, I navigated my way.  White knuckles on the wheel, and eyes squinting to see through the barely functioning wiper blades (the coastal bend is harsh on wiper blades… and really anything else that needs to last outside for more than a month).  Almost two hours later I arrived.  I looked back at the marvel of ingenuity that was my tarps and twine.  I was shocked to see a mangled mess of plastic, broken glass, and tarps lying in the bed.  I dove in to assess the damage, and aside from a broken glass door pane, the devil reincarnate structure had survived unscathed.  I took what was left of the tarps, diligently covered the wood as best as possible, and went to see the new mansion my father had created.

     I eventually opened the door after putting my shoulder to it a few times, and walked into a room filled with dark, and apparently some furniture.  I know this because I found the furniture with my toes, feet, shins, knees, and once with my head as I stumbled to where the breaker box should be.  “Let there be light!”, I thought as I flipped the switch, and then, there was light.  I went outside to the water pump, and thought, “let there be water!”, as I opened the valve.  There was no water.  A quick call to my father and I found the new breaker box to the water pump.  Raised the lever and WOW!!!  There was water!  I had water coming out of the shower handle, and out from under the wall!  After I turned off the pump, and mopped up all the water, having used a towel to shield my sensitive and now burning nostrils from the acrid stench of eggs that filled the entire house, two of my cousins pulled up the gravel drive.

     I enlisted the raw manpower that is my cousin’s hubby, JD, to help manhandle the wooden beast of an entertainment center into the house.  I am going to jump over the actual move because numerous curse words were muttered, people got soaked, hands got scraped, and the prized brand new carpet received a christening of mud that trailed from the door to where the inhumane TV stand from the depths of hell now resides (Mom, I cleaned up the mud).  Finally, I unpacked the truck and JD made some gourmet burgers, choosing to brave the downpour and use the grill instead of staying dry and using the skillet in honor of our taste buds and burger grillers worldwide.  That night consisted of great food, beer, wine, and some really interesting board games.  We went to bed.

     I awoke the next morning before everyone else, drank a cup of coffee and went to walk the vast expanse that is our fifty one acres ( I always remember it being much bigger).  With the exception of the standing water everywhere, the property was great!  Tanks were full, the creek was up, and I saw two deer.  While walking the south easement, I noticed some movement about forty five yards up.  PIGS! Fifteen little pigs between forty and eighty pounds. And me without a gun!  Oh well, a hunting opportunity still.  I wondered how close I could get to them.  Maybe I could actually grab one of the small ones.  As I eased up to within ten yards of them, something in the back of my mind spoke up.  What if I startle them and they turn on me?!  I mean, they were all fairly small as pigs go, but there were fifteen of them!  Ok, I decided I was close enough.  I whistled loudly.  Nothing.  I shouted. Nothing.  I walked three more steps, picked up a rock and chunked it.  Direct hit!!  Right in the keester!  The pigs then moved over eight yards and continued eating.  My stomach grumbling and my pride hurt from not being scary enough to run off baby piglets, I headed back to the house.

     Everyone else was up, and we walked the property a few more times, taking pictures, seeing more deer, and the same group of pigs (across the fence).  After cleaning up the house, we packed up and headed home.  A great time was had by all, and we planned on doing this again soon.  Family events are great, and so is having a place to go that held so much awe as a child.  But I am NEVER moving a piece of furniture for my parents again!

“For only two hundred bucks, you’ll be able to hunt doves, quail, deer and pigs for the entire season, and its only a thirty minute drive from Corpus.”

Right away I thought of an old abandoned parking lot or maybe we would be in his back yard shooting grackles of his fence.  “C’mon! Whats the catch?”

“No catch.  I am being straight up.  Would I cheat you?” 

I told him I would have to see the property before I throw down the cash.

“Well, that might be a problem”, he says.  “There are only five spots, and four are filled.  The last one will go quickly.”  I began to notice the other hunters circling us like a bunch of buzzards ready to dive on the piece of prime rib that is this lease.

“Well, tell me more.”

“It’s an outstanding piece of property, with two stock tanks that have never once been dry in my thirty plus years of existence.  Add to that acres upon acres of waist deep goatweed so thick we will need to cut paths through them just to walk.  I have never had a bad hunt while out there, and always get my limit.”

Naturally, ideas of twenty minute limits, and my lab, Daisy, dead tired and covered in feathers were all I could see.  I could not write that check fast enough. Sorry buzzards!!  I walked away feeling like I had just bought a brand new Porsche for twenty bucks!  A part of me ALMOST felt bad for the guy who I had just swindled, to get myself on the most outstanding dove lease in all of south Texas.  Next came the preparations, and I studiously spent the next two weeks cleaning my guns, and checking my gear.  Daisy and I spent numerous hours throwing and retrieving bumpers.  I did not want to be that guy on the lease who chases after his very poorly trained dog, yelling obscenities, cursing the very existence of the dog he loves, and of course providing great amounts of entertainment for all the other hunters who have already limited on doves, and are now working their way through a limit of beer.  Daisy, it seems, knew about the great opportunity I basically stole for us, and performed in training sessions flawlessly.  Good dog. No, great dog!  This is how I anxiously spent the two weeks until opening day.  Finally the day was upon us.  I rushed home after work, grabbed my gear and the dog, and hightailed it the thirty minutes to the property.  When I arrived, there were three other hunters already setting up in what they thought would be the “best” spot.  I quickly introduced myself, and ran to a spot by one of the always full tanks.  Daisy was in the lead, and she went up and over the bank.  As I approached, I realized I wasn’t hearing any splashing.  Where is my dog?  Surely she could find water in a tank that has been claimed to be overflowing.  I crested the rise, and stared out at a veritable mud flat.  And Daisy, stuck to her chest in mud, five feet from the bank where she landed after jumping in.  She looked to me as if to say, “C’mon dad, get in here and get me out.”  I was surprised.  I lost both my socks, and only had to pull my boots from the mud twice before I retrieved my retriever.  I was covered in mud, but still excited about the hunt to be.  Daisy, however, was not.  My dog is a great hunter and companion.  But still she is a female, and every woman I know HATES to be dirty.  She began to jump, shake, roll around, and crawl to get the cement like mud off of her.  As I was watching/laughing/trying to get her to come to heel, a single dove lazily flew in front.  I jumped up and only used one of the two barrels of my Beretta.  The bird went down and landed with a thud fifteen yards away.  Perfect shot!  I sent Daisy who can’t seem to get there fast enough.  She picks up the dove, and proceeds to return to my side. What a GREAT dog!  It turned out to be the only bird in the area for the next three hours, so Daisy and I made our way to the trucks.  Everyone else was there, beer in hand, guns leaning against a tree.  They had been there for the three hours I wasn’t.

“How did y’all do?”

“Oh, we killed a twelve pack and are on our second.”

Great!  This is a $200 beer drinking club!  Oh well.  I lean my gun against the truck door and grab a can.  When in Rome…  And to top off the night, one of the other dogs got into my game bag and ate my one single dove!