ky wonder
US Veteran
a tobacco stick , ( a hardwood stick that is 3/4'x3/4'x48"), I shot a lot of villians with that thing at age 5, same type stick with a piece of grass string (baler twine) tied on as a bridal, was my trusty steed
the first real gun that was mine was a stevens 311a, 16 ga at 14 with 2 box'S of shells and was instructed to have game for each round , I managed 25 out of 50, squrills, rabbits and Quail
During the Christmas school break, back in 1965. It was colder than a well diggers butt in the Antarctic, at our home in the hills of Metcalfe county here in central KY., where we lived in the old house that was built by my great grandparents, the home my father was born in., as well as his siblings and there mother.
I had been cooped up in that old house, for several days, and I was suffering from cabin fever, especially severe anticipating opening that long package under the tree.
On Christmas eve night, (The night my family always exchanged gifts) Dad and mom had given me a field grade model 311 side by side double barrel shotgun, in 16 gauge with a 26" imp cyl./cyl bore barrel, and two boxes of number 8 shot shells.
My Grand parents had given me a new hunting coat earlier in the night. These two gifts put this 14 year old boy in hog heaven.
I distinctly remember I did not sleep any that night, I just lay there; rubbing that gun, imagining my future adventures with my new gun.
Early the next morning at dawn, I got up, dressed and went outside into a sub zero morning, fed and watered my dad’s bird dogs. My favorite Old Spot my dads Luellen setter (English setter with lemon spots) and I had spent many days together hunting over the past couple of years and I wanted to show him my new shot-gun.
Old spot was a unusual turned dog, he paid little attention on most morning when we would go outside, for my brothers and I would normally just feed the dogs and go back in out of the cold, but at the site of the gun, he started acting like the hunter he was, and it was easy to see, that he was ready to go.
I went into the house and asked my dad if he wanted to go hunting, and he told me it was too cold, that we would go later in the day, after it warmed up.
So, I asked him, if I could take old spot and go for a while. Like all dads, who want to sleep in on a cold morning He replied “If you want to, but be careful'.
I put on my brand new hunting coat that came from the new k-mart store in Louisville, put the shells in the elastic shell carriers that were sewn onto the brown coat grabbed my gun, and turned old Spot loose.
There was a light skiff of snow on the ground and it was very cold, so cold I had to keep rotating my hands in and out of my pockets, to keep them warm.
About a quarter mile from the house, Old Spot locked up on (pointed toward) a clump of sage brush under a small cedar tree in a fence row. Spot was in a picture perfect point, and when I flushed the birds a nice covey of about 20 Mexican quail (the little fast ones) broke to my right flying up the hill away from me. After that double barrel spoke its peace, I had taken two birds on that covey rise.
After seeing where the birds had set down, I made Old Spot start hunting for singles, and we ended up killing eight more birds out of that one covey, for a total of ten nice birds from 12 rounds fired.
By about 8am, even with the excitement of the hunt, it felt like I was about to freeze to death, my ears and cheeks where numb, burning from the cold, so we circled back toward the house, and while passing a old dozer pile, old spot again locked up on a beautiful point , this time on a small covey of big bob white quail.
When I flushed this covey only eight birds took flight, again the old Stevens spoke its peace and I took two large quails, and again headed toward the house.
Never once did we get out of hearing distance of the house that morning, so when I put up the dog and went in out of the cold, my dad said to me from his warm bed.
"Boy shells don’t grow on trees, and you don’t need to waste them that a way! I told you it was to cold to hunt!"
I was standing backed up to the warm stove, trying to thaw out from my cold adventure
I set about cleaning the birds there at the kitchen sink, while they started getting up for the day. When my parents got up and my grand parents come over, we had fresh fried quail, biscuits, eggs, and gravy that morning for a late breakfast.
My dad and I went hunting that afternoon and many times afterwards.
He told me that he wished, he had gone with me that morning.
But if the truth is told I am glad it was just me, the dog, and my gun.
I will always treasure that Christmas morning hunt with my old friend Spot, and my first shotgun, a Stevens’s model 311a
Old spot has been gone for many years now; the old shotgun, is in its bag, secure in the safe with many more expensive guns that I have acquired over the years but none that I value more!. . I can still feel the cold, smell the morning air, and taste that breakfast from over 45 years ago.
And I do truly believe, that mornings hunt, was a gift from God!!!
the first real gun that was mine was a stevens 311a, 16 ga at 14 with 2 box'S of shells and was instructed to have game for each round , I managed 25 out of 50, squrills, rabbits and Quail
During the Christmas school break, back in 1965. It was colder than a well diggers butt in the Antarctic, at our home in the hills of Metcalfe county here in central KY., where we lived in the old house that was built by my great grandparents, the home my father was born in., as well as his siblings and there mother.
I had been cooped up in that old house, for several days, and I was suffering from cabin fever, especially severe anticipating opening that long package under the tree.
On Christmas eve night, (The night my family always exchanged gifts) Dad and mom had given me a field grade model 311 side by side double barrel shotgun, in 16 gauge with a 26" imp cyl./cyl bore barrel, and two boxes of number 8 shot shells.
My Grand parents had given me a new hunting coat earlier in the night. These two gifts put this 14 year old boy in hog heaven.
I distinctly remember I did not sleep any that night, I just lay there; rubbing that gun, imagining my future adventures with my new gun.
Early the next morning at dawn, I got up, dressed and went outside into a sub zero morning, fed and watered my dad’s bird dogs. My favorite Old Spot my dads Luellen setter (English setter with lemon spots) and I had spent many days together hunting over the past couple of years and I wanted to show him my new shot-gun.
Old spot was a unusual turned dog, he paid little attention on most morning when we would go outside, for my brothers and I would normally just feed the dogs and go back in out of the cold, but at the site of the gun, he started acting like the hunter he was, and it was easy to see, that he was ready to go.
I went into the house and asked my dad if he wanted to go hunting, and he told me it was too cold, that we would go later in the day, after it warmed up.
So, I asked him, if I could take old spot and go for a while. Like all dads, who want to sleep in on a cold morning He replied “If you want to, but be careful'.
I put on my brand new hunting coat that came from the new k-mart store in Louisville, put the shells in the elastic shell carriers that were sewn onto the brown coat grabbed my gun, and turned old Spot loose.
There was a light skiff of snow on the ground and it was very cold, so cold I had to keep rotating my hands in and out of my pockets, to keep them warm.
About a quarter mile from the house, Old Spot locked up on (pointed toward) a clump of sage brush under a small cedar tree in a fence row. Spot was in a picture perfect point, and when I flushed the birds a nice covey of about 20 Mexican quail (the little fast ones) broke to my right flying up the hill away from me. After that double barrel spoke its peace, I had taken two birds on that covey rise.
After seeing where the birds had set down, I made Old Spot start hunting for singles, and we ended up killing eight more birds out of that one covey, for a total of ten nice birds from 12 rounds fired.
By about 8am, even with the excitement of the hunt, it felt like I was about to freeze to death, my ears and cheeks where numb, burning from the cold, so we circled back toward the house, and while passing a old dozer pile, old spot again locked up on a beautiful point , this time on a small covey of big bob white quail.
When I flushed this covey only eight birds took flight, again the old Stevens spoke its peace and I took two large quails, and again headed toward the house.
Never once did we get out of hearing distance of the house that morning, so when I put up the dog and went in out of the cold, my dad said to me from his warm bed.
"Boy shells don’t grow on trees, and you don’t need to waste them that a way! I told you it was to cold to hunt!"
I was standing backed up to the warm stove, trying to thaw out from my cold adventure
I set about cleaning the birds there at the kitchen sink, while they started getting up for the day. When my parents got up and my grand parents come over, we had fresh fried quail, biscuits, eggs, and gravy that morning for a late breakfast.
My dad and I went hunting that afternoon and many times afterwards.
He told me that he wished, he had gone with me that morning.
But if the truth is told I am glad it was just me, the dog, and my gun.
I will always treasure that Christmas morning hunt with my old friend Spot, and my first shotgun, a Stevens’s model 311a
Old spot has been gone for many years now; the old shotgun, is in its bag, secure in the safe with many more expensive guns that I have acquired over the years but none that I value more!. . I can still feel the cold, smell the morning air, and taste that breakfast from over 45 years ago.
And I do truly believe, that mornings hunt, was a gift from God!!!
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We both learned about firearms,safety and how too shoot from him and our Dad.
