Hunting Birds-and Bucks

The hunter, traditionally free and self-sufficient, The season is in full swing. Fields teem with hunters, and already a number of elegantly pedigreed Guernseys have been slung over front fenders by city frontiersmen who wouldn’t know an udder from an antler.

Whatever its drawbacks, this is a glorious time of the year. With the first slap of cold air and the rattle of drying leaves, the American male begins to feel primordial surges in his breast. He must secure meat for the family! Bussing his wife on the cheek, he strides out into the glittering world, dog at heel and gun in hand. But he seeks more than the thunder of partridge exploding out of hemlocks; more than a rag-tag bunch of ducks swirling over his decoys. Part of what he seeks may be kinship with nature. Or solitude, perhaps. Or, simply, independence.

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F. Reid Buckley

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The hunter, traditionally free and self-sufficient, The season is in full swing. Fields teem with hunters, and already a number of elegantly pedigreed Guernseys have been slung over front fenders by city frontiersmen who wouldn’t know an udder from an antler.

Whatever its drawbacks, this is a glorious time of the year. With the first slap of cold air and the rattle of drying leaves, the American male begins to feel primordial surges in his breast. He must secure meat for the family! Bussing his wife on the cheek, he strides out into the glittering world, dog at heel and gun in hand. But he seeks more than the thunder of partridge exploding out of hemlocks; more than a rag-tag bunch of ducks swirling over his decoys. Part of what he seeks may be kinship with nature. Or solitude, perhaps. Or, simply, independence.