A
Anonymous
Guest
Well, since Linda Jean brought it up, Tom and I just KNOW you guys would like to see what bedevils her, even after thirty-two years of it living in the freezer! But first, I'll give you the background that I remember.
The bird was an extra-special bird in several ways. Daddy was impressed how the ole boy didn't just get suckered into the first series of calls. No, no. He made Daddy use several tactics before he just couldn't stand it anymore.
The memory is fuzzy, but I believe that Daddy had used his slate call, but could not get him to commit. Gobblers are known to "hang up" just out of shotgun (and bow) range. It's natural for the hen to go to the gobbler, but when hunters call, it MUST be the other way around. Their senses are just too great.
Anyway, the ole ML Lynch slate would interest him but not bring him into range, so after playing the game for quite some time, Daddy waited a while and called with the slate again and immediately followed it up with a box call, yelping, using the "gobbler" side of the the box, to imitate a subordinate tom horning in on the action. That made the gobbler "see red" and here he came running, "leaning into the curves" as Daddy said.
One shot from his Belgium-made Browning gold trigger, vent-rib, 28-inch, full-choke barrel shotgun put him down for the count.
He was a big bird--probably 20 pounds or better, bigger than average spurs and a "barber-brush" 10 1/2 inch beard.
This battle of wits had gone on for two hours. So, to honor the ole boy, Daddy just put his head in the freezer. Why not? Over the years it has become mummified and freeze dried. It weighs hardly anything nowadays.
The last time we pressed him into service was thanksgiving, two years ago. I placed the head under a covered plate on Linda's immacuate table setting. Of course, just at the right time, Linda, thinking one of us brought a dish from home, went over, snooping around. As she raised the lid, Tom and I heard the shriek and then a growling, through-the-teeth threat from the next room.
Linda came in front room, on the way to her bedroom to change her underwear. <img src="/metal/html/oh.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":O"> She glared and then a smirk came out to meet our big ole' broad grins. "Gottcha." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. Tom and I just burst out laughin' makin' it even better, donchaknow.
Of course NOW, I have a whole NEW crop of kids to chase and 'peck' with the turkey head. Ashlea, my 16 year old, Kristin, Linda and Scott's 17 year old, they just HATE the thing. We'll chase them through the house after an initial surprise peck on the shoulder. They look around and there they are--face to face with a 32 year-old trophy! Whoever's doin't he harrassing at that time will go, "pert, pert, pert" and son the chase is on. Linda can't run as fast as she used to, considering her old age and all, but that's alright.
Some of the little kids are just absolutely terrified of it and Linda won't let us near the precious little angels. Huuummph! Their time's a comin'...and Papa is snickering from heaven itself all the while.
It's funny. After all those years, Daddy still affects our every holiday and then some. I am a blessed man, but buddy, that turkey head is just icing on the cake.
I'm a rich man, too. I'll bet Sam Walton never had a frozen 32 year-old turkey head in HIS freezer.
<img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol">
Have a great Spring day. <><
Arkie John
Hey Linda. "Pert, pert, pert." <img src="/metal/html/yo.gif" border=0 width=31 height=15 alt=":yo">
The bird was an extra-special bird in several ways. Daddy was impressed how the ole boy didn't just get suckered into the first series of calls. No, no. He made Daddy use several tactics before he just couldn't stand it anymore.
The memory is fuzzy, but I believe that Daddy had used his slate call, but could not get him to commit. Gobblers are known to "hang up" just out of shotgun (and bow) range. It's natural for the hen to go to the gobbler, but when hunters call, it MUST be the other way around. Their senses are just too great.
Anyway, the ole ML Lynch slate would interest him but not bring him into range, so after playing the game for quite some time, Daddy waited a while and called with the slate again and immediately followed it up with a box call, yelping, using the "gobbler" side of the the box, to imitate a subordinate tom horning in on the action. That made the gobbler "see red" and here he came running, "leaning into the curves" as Daddy said.
One shot from his Belgium-made Browning gold trigger, vent-rib, 28-inch, full-choke barrel shotgun put him down for the count.
He was a big bird--probably 20 pounds or better, bigger than average spurs and a "barber-brush" 10 1/2 inch beard.
This battle of wits had gone on for two hours. So, to honor the ole boy, Daddy just put his head in the freezer. Why not? Over the years it has become mummified and freeze dried. It weighs hardly anything nowadays.
The last time we pressed him into service was thanksgiving, two years ago. I placed the head under a covered plate on Linda's immacuate table setting. Of course, just at the right time, Linda, thinking one of us brought a dish from home, went over, snooping around. As she raised the lid, Tom and I heard the shriek and then a growling, through-the-teeth threat from the next room.
Linda came in front room, on the way to her bedroom to change her underwear. <img src="/metal/html/oh.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":O"> She glared and then a smirk came out to meet our big ole' broad grins. "Gottcha." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said. Tom and I just burst out laughin' makin' it even better, donchaknow.
Of course NOW, I have a whole NEW crop of kids to chase and 'peck' with the turkey head. Ashlea, my 16 year old, Kristin, Linda and Scott's 17 year old, they just HATE the thing. We'll chase them through the house after an initial surprise peck on the shoulder. They look around and there they are--face to face with a 32 year-old trophy! Whoever's doin't he harrassing at that time will go, "pert, pert, pert" and son the chase is on. Linda can't run as fast as she used to, considering her old age and all, but that's alright.
Some of the little kids are just absolutely terrified of it and Linda won't let us near the precious little angels. Huuummph! Their time's a comin'...and Papa is snickering from heaven itself all the while.
It's funny. After all those years, Daddy still affects our every holiday and then some. I am a blessed man, but buddy, that turkey head is just icing on the cake.
I'm a rich man, too. I'll bet Sam Walton never had a frozen 32 year-old turkey head in HIS freezer.
<img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol"> <img src="/metal/html/lol.gif" border=0 width=15 height=15 alt=":lol">
Have a great Spring day. <><
Arkie John
Hey Linda. "Pert, pert, pert." <img src="/metal/html/yo.gif" border=0 width=31 height=15 alt=":yo">