They're laughing with you
By Nick Simonson
The day after I tagged my deer last season was warm but windy and there was no snow on the ground. It was more like a September scene than one from November. With temperatures in the mid-50s and gusty breezes at 25 miles per hour, I watched the hillside grasses bend as the northwest gales curled around the sunny side of the hill my lab Ole and I walked on during our final day of vacation which was set aside for big game, but now took on a new purpose after a punched tag. Not a hundred yards from the truck on the breeze came a sudden realization that with it was the scent of something sporting in the waving amber flow we waded into as Ole scent-checked the air, sprung forward, lifted
his nose again and bounded ahead. All around him, sharptailed grouse sprung up and gurgled as they battled the breezes to get aloft and away from us as fast as possible. I downed one and then another. I caught my breath as Ole retrieved the second bird and I reloaded as we approached the corner of the unharvested field and the small grass strip that led
to the next grassy stretch of our walk. Not three feet from me a gray football sprang into the air and took a collision course toward my face, laughing the startled cry that the prairie birds are well known for. It banked about six inches away, sending a woosh of air into my ear.
