What A Difference A Week Makes

One week ago, I was nursing a sick dog with an uncertain future.  I owned today.

Jack and I left Casa Scampwalker a few minutes after 5am for the hour-long trip to our dove field.  It poured -- and I mean poured -- rain the entire drive.  I was in full damage control mode, telling my eager son that it was likely the day (his first day) would be a washout.

Pulling off and parking at our destination, I checked the NEXRAD.  Seemed clear just to the west of us.  The sun reluctantly rose behind the clouds, and the rain let up.  Shooting time.

For the next three hours, my son and I had the hunt of our lives -- Jack, his first-ever, and me, living vicariously through his wonder-filled eyes and shit-eating grin.  We saw and shot plenty of birds.  And thank God for Vegas -- she found half the birds we knocked down in the thick soybeans and sunflower undergrowth.

My ringing phone shook me out of the predatory bliss I was in.  It was Dr. Frances, our vet who had removed Dottie's alarmingly fast-growing tumor.  Dottie is fine.  It turns out she had a long-blocked mammary gland that happened to flare up suddenly.  Crisis averted.

Gathering our spent shells and dead birds, we hustled to the truck as it began sprinkling.  By the time we pulled out, it was a downpour, all the way back home.

We dodged a lot of stormclouds today, and saw heaven, too.  Not a bad first day of the season.

Thanks again for your well wishes.