Br'er Rabbit and the dove hunt gone awry

Boyfriend and I went down to the Delta with some friends on Tuesday morning to see if we might get a little early morning dove action. I've done precious little dove hunting (two attempts), and even less dove hitting (uh, I've never exactly gotten one), so I was kind of excited about the prospect of a glorious opener.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha.

Glory? Read more...
There was none. Staked out along a farm road that ran between a young pear orchard and a vineyard, we didn't see a single limit of doves between the five of us all morning.

Of course, Mr. Snapshot got two of said birds, including one he got with an amazing overhead shot in which he pirouetted like a Nutcracker ballerina. If I didn't have to go to work today, I'd Photoshop a tutu on his ass, just for fun. But I'm busy.

Two other guys with us - Josh and Paul - got one each. But mostly we just sat there chatting with farm workers riding by on bicycles.

Buenos dias! Si. Palomas.

With the action in the sky looking that grim, we had no choice, really, but to look elsewhere. I informed everyone that I was working on a rabbit recipe that requires, you got it, rabbits.

Josh was the first to get one, a monster jack rabbit he'd spotted at about 20 yards. Enormous. It took two of us to stuff him in my vest.

We split up and wandered into more established pear orchards on the property, and that's when the fun began.

I walked the edge of an orchard slowly, poking my head forward to peer down the rows between the trees. Fourth row in, I saw the unmistakable bounce of a jack rabbit's butt disappearing behind a tree.

Ah ha! Br'er rabbit is here!

I walked to the end of the orchard, then back, and on the return trip, I saw something. Was that two big ears sticking up above the grass? I squinted, squatted to get a different angle and confirmed it. Jack rabbit. Not moving.

I love shooting at things that hold still for me, especially with a shotgun. I prefer a good clean kill to a "challenging" shot any day.

I aimed and fired. He loped away.

WTF?

I ran into the orchard where I'd shot and found no indication that he'd been wounded. I saw a freshly gnawed-on pear on the ground. Mmmmmm. Well-fed jack! Pear rabbit!

I walked to the other end of the orchard and started looking between rows of trees again.

There he was again - holding still! I raised my gun and fired. He loped away again.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I kept walking the rows.

Blip! There was a butt bouncing into the trees.

Blip! There he was again, bouncing the other way.

It was like searching for someone in a grocery store.

Then the sprinklers went on.

Make that "like searching for someone in a grocery store in the produce aisle."

I didn't think the shower would be conducive to bringing out Pear Jack, so I went to rejoin my friends, who noticed that I was empty-handed after having fired two shots.

We regrouped, and Paul joined me on the walk to another orchard where the water wasn't on.

It turned out Paul is a grad student at my university. He's also a relatively new hunter, and that dove he'd gotten a little while earlier was his first kill. He had that look on his face: I finally did it!

I can relate.

I introduced him to the grocery store game, and we found a spot that was filthy with jacks. He stayed a couple rows down from me so we could alert each other if one was crossing our way.

I saw one and shot. Bounced away. Walked two rows down and did it again. Same result.

OK, I know I'm not that experienced, but dammit, I can hit something that's holding still when I'm shooting a shotgun. At 40 yards, the pattern should be plenty...

Hmmm. Forty yards. With dove shot. At a jack rabbit. Perhaps that was the problem. I'd need to get closer.

Then Paul said, "I see one!" He raised his shotgun and fired.

"I got it!" he yelled, and went sprinting into the orchard. He was holding it up by the legs when I got there. His second kill! He had that flushed look.

"You can have it," he said, stuffing it into my vest. "But I want to see if I can get another. If I do, I'll keep it."

"So," I asked, "how far away was it?"

"Oh, close," he said. "Five trees down." Probably 20 yards.

OK, that made me feel better. If I could just get one at 20 yards.

But we didn't. That was the last shot of the day. And it was another classic Holly hunt where I don't actually kill anything, but somehow come home with critters in the ice chest.

Boyfriend and I talked about it as we sped home so we could shower up and get to work. That rabbit stew I've been contemplated would require a couple tweaks. It just wouldn't be right to make it without pears.

Boyfriend, of course, has already cooked his quarry. You can check out his account of the hunt and the feast here.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009