Ken Vickers
Texting and shooting just don’t mix
After a morning bird count, I decided it was time to call the shoot at a local field for that afternoon. It was short notice but I managed to get commitments from several avid bird hunters like myself. During all the flurry of calls, my daughter, Jesse, overheard and asked if she could go. I was delighted and readily agreed. She asked if she could call some of her boy pals and I agreed again. The texting began in earnest as her little fingers worked the keyboard of her iPhone to a hot lather letting her buds know there was to be a shoot. Since school was out, she had no trouble getting takers. I busied myself gathering the necessities; guns, shells, swivel buckets, blinds, camo, and warm clothing. I had to show Jesse how to work her Mom’s 20 gauge 1100 Remington, as she was used to the 410 pump I bought her several years ago when she was much younger. Of course, all this flurry of activity did not go unnoticed by Fox, the Chocolate wino Lab. He was beside himself with excitement and began barking to let me know to include his flask of antifreeze. I told him no, naturally, and reminded him that drinking and retrieving don’t mix.
At the field, I got everything set up for Jesse; bucket, blind, etc., and showed her one last time about loading her shotgun. I noticed her manicured nails as she deftly loaded shells into the weapon and readied for action. I reminded her to be careful when adding shells into the magazine because I did not want the rearward spring pressure to bite her nail off. Of course, she had her iPhone at the ready, also, just in case the action slowed down a bit and she felt the need to text her friends.
I finally got my own blind ready and sat down, patiently scanning the skies along with Fox. He has learned what to look for and as soon as he sees a bird he starts whining. It doesn’t matter what kind of bird he sees. If it is airborne he wants it shot so he can get feathers in his mouth.
The action started quickly and small droves of dove were flying all around Jesse but she did not see them. It is hard to see up when you are looking down, texting. I would yell, “JESSE!”, at the top of my lungs whereupon she would stop texting and look up just in time to see the birds after they were out of range. At this point she would rise up, fire three times, reload, and start texting again. This went on until I was hoarse. It was made the worse because all the birds were flying around her and none by me.
Exasperated, I was thinking about going over, throwing that dadblamed iPhone up and shooting it when she got up and started walking toward me. I figured her gun had jammed so I headed out to meet her. As I got closer I saw tears and heard sobs. She was holding her trigger finger straight out, blood pouring from where her fingernail used to be. “I’ll bet that’ll slow the texting down,” I growled.
I sent her to the truck and appropriated her blind whereupon a good dove shoot commenced. Mean old Daddy.
I finally got my own blind ready and sat down, patiently scanning the skies along with Fox. He has learned what to look for and as soon as he sees a bird he starts whining. It doesn’t matter what kind of bird he sees. If it is airborne he wants it shot so he can get feathers in his mouth.
The action started quickly and small droves of dove were flying all around Jesse but she did not see them. It is hard to see up when you are looking down, texting. I would yell, “JESSE!”, at the top of my lungs whereupon she would stop texting and look up just in time to see the birds after they were out of range. At this point she would rise up, fire three times, reload, and start texting again. This went on until I was hoarse. It was made the worse because all the birds were flying around her and none by me.
Exasperated, I was thinking about going over, throwing that dadblamed iPhone up and shooting it when she got up and started walking toward me. I figured her gun had jammed so I headed out to meet her. As I got closer I saw tears and heard sobs. She was holding her trigger finger straight out, blood pouring from where her fingernail used to be. “I’ll bet that’ll slow the texting down,” I growled.
I sent her to the truck and appropriated her blind whereupon a good dove shoot commenced. Mean old Daddy.
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