Catch Me If You Can
“I’ve got a fox killing my chickens, and I need your help,” the voice said on the other end of the line. “They are killing my chickens faster than I can replace them.” […]
“I’ve got a fox killing my chickens, and I need your help,” the voice said on the other end of the line. “They are killing my chickens faster than I can replace them.” […]
About 10 years ago, if you looked on the calendars of Mississippi waterfowlers , chances are you’d see a circle around one of the last days of January. The circle marked the last day of waterfowl season when the decoys, blinds and steel-shot shells, if you had any left, went back into storage. […]
Everyone has an opinion on what happened to the quail. Pesticides, fire ants and predators are the top three responses typically heard from old bird hunters. No doubt, these three factors probably played a part, but when you ask the biologists what is the main reason for the statewide population decline, you get another answer. […]
I can remember as a young boy, looking up from behind my push mower on a hot, sweaty, summer day to see a ted-tailed hawk soaring high overhead. The scream of the redtail seemed to be made in mockery, as if she was saying, “Ha ha, look at you down there in the dirt and I am up here soaring in the breeze.” […]
This account describes the final scene in the story as young Ike McCaslin emerges from the forest and finds veteran woodsman Boon Hogganbeck working frantically to put his malfunctioned gun back together at the base of a lone gum tree near the forest edge. […]
Two Mississippi hunters slipped into the moonlit field with quiet footfalls and talking only in whispers. One leaned a .270 against a corner fence post, and the other strung out wire to a remote speaker that was part of an electronic calling system. […]
Christmas has come and gone, and deer and duck seasons are coming to an end in Mississippi. Most of us have fattened up over the holidays, and the brutal, late-winter weather might have us spending a little too much time indoors munching on the candied pecans. […]
“Load up, Music!”
The old blue tick coon hound did as Buddy Lisk commanded, leaping excitedly onto the tailgate of the pickup and settling in next to his litter mate, Blaze, for the short ride to Christian Bottom. […]
“This is as good as it gets,” Neal Brown said as he stoked a Tennessee-style flintlock in .32 caliber. “I’ve done a lot of hunting, but squirrel hunting with a dog and the flintlock is my favorite. Let’s see what Barlow puts up down here in the swamp.” […]
“Do I look like a thug?” The gentleman who asked this question was dressed casually and stylishly. He looked like a middle-class male, about 40 years of age. No obvious tattoos, he had short-cropped hair. Tall, average weight, well-spoken, to my eyes he looked like anything but a street criminal, and I said so. […]
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