Christmas was over. The wonderful presents had been ripped opened and the heaps of wrapping paper and bows that covered the floor were collected and bagged. Then, the cookies, fudge, chips, snacks, drinks, football games and finally the traditional huge dinner followed by, groan, a delicious dessert that begged to be eaten. Chairs and couches creaked and moaned as we holiday revelers settled, blimp-like into them, semi-comatose from our prodigious food intake. I ask you, is there anything better than food, family and friends, food and more food? I don’t think so.
The day after Saint Nick’s arrival heralded the second small game season. I was fortunate enough to have been invited to hunt snowshoe rabbits with Doug and Matt Wingard. Mark Koppenhaver, a Bradford High rifle tam alumni, completed the four-some along with, of course, Sam and Maggie, the beagles.
My system was thrilled to go outdoors and burn off a few of the billion calories I had ingested. Early Tuesday morning I drug myself out of hibernation, dressed, fumbled for the shotgun and some shells and stumbled down the stairs into Doug’s truck. We drove to the Westline area, followed a dirt road back to a clear-cut and disembarked.
After a brief plan of action we spread out and worked our way into the thickest pile of treetops and saplings I have been in for some time. A 20-yard shot was all but impossible so thick was the cover and I wondered how in the world I could ever see far enough to shoot a rabbit if one went by.
After a half-hour Sam started barking. Initially the barks and yowls were quite far apart. Then, as the scent grew hotter, the music of his chase sounded ever closer and closer together. The white rabbit went back and forth several times. Finally, the icy air was split by the sharp crack of a shotgun.
A quick conference over the hand-held walkie-talkies revealed that Mark had intercepted the snowshoe as it ran through the almost impenetrable brush. All he saw was the flash of motion and a black eye moving intermittently through the maze. His shot was true however and soon we were all admiring the large size of the rabbit and, of course, the extra large feet for which they are named.
Sam came up on the trail, saw his efforts had been successful, and immediately left to find another snowshoe. His whole attitude seemed to be one of business. “Forget the pats and praise boys, I have to find another rabbit!” Maggie was having a good time, but seemed rather baffled as to the meaning of it all. Sam glanced disparagingly at her as if she were too hopeless to associate with.
After forcing my way through the tangle for some distance I came to an area with several good log piles and an abundance of tracks. A little tired from the effort needed to push through the mess, I found a limb that offered a good seat and sat down. Sam was in full tongue and appeared to be growing closer. After 10 minutes or so I saw him working his way ever nearer until he came within five feet of me. He looked up, saw me and stopped absolutely dumbfounded! His expression was plain. “Here I am, working my butt off and you can’t even shoot the rabbit? I put him over the toes of your boots for crying out loud!”
Somewhat taken back, I waved him on, telling him the rabbit had gone by before I gotten here. Sam looked at me with a “Whatever!” expression and, putting his head down, barked loudly and resumed the chase. I think the bark was telling me he was on a “rabbit” and to please “shoot” next time, but I could be wrong.
Luckily, for my suddenly tarnished image, Sam chased the rabbit right back to me. The snowshoe ran out, did a tight circle and came back the same trail he had gone out on. I looked up, saw the rabbit at 10 yards just as he saw me.
He spun and dashed back the way he had come. I saw a narrow opening of sorts in front of him and snapped a shot through it. The rabbit flipped, to my surprise, and I ran up to admire my first snowshoe in some 10 years. Matt, Mark and Doug wound their way to me with congratulations, but I felt the best when Sam came up the trail and gave me a grudging glance of approval.
Was it because I didn’t let the rabbit get by the second time, or because I saved him the heart and liver?
Maybe I’ll never know.
