Dead Bird

Sunday, October 5, 2003 -- I picked up Cathi and the boys at the Walmart in Calallen (thanks to Nana for dropping them off) and we hustled back to Skidmore to get ready for another dove hunt out at uncle Ronnie's "80 acres" (we really need to come up with a better name for that place). By the time we made it to Beeville, we only had about 45 minutes to hunt before sundown. This turned out to be a good thing since there were virtually no doves flying anyway. With no REAL birds to take home, Zach and I gathered up a bunch of the feathers left over from out last hunt and stuffed them into one of my old socks. We figured we could use it to teach Piglet to fetch a "dead bird" like the impressive Labrador we saw at cousin Will's hunt. Back at the house, Piglet would have nothing to do with our fake bird. You would think that an animal that licks its own butt would enjoy a sock full of dead bird feathers, but go figure.