A blizzard blew in this weekend, stranding truckers, closing interstates, and ruining volleyball and basketball tournaments state-wide. 18-wheelers capsized all over the highways. I did my part by sneaking up to Buffalo, WY for a weekend of pheasant harvesting. The cocks were flying and so was the snow. Some flake where so enormous that I turned on them with my 20 gauge, thinking they were pheasants. What can I say? I did my part. Where were you? Henderson and Rocket were reminded that they are, after all, hunting dogs. They chased roosters all over Johnston County. We ended up in the Occidental, staring at a hefty shot of Eagle Rare, gulping down the loneliness that is Wyoming small town Friday night. The snow plows rumbled all night and we hunted Saturday at first light. The dogs ravished the hotel room, defying my pleas to keep them off of the bed. There wasn't much on tv. Football season is becoming tiresome. Alabama seems to have a fascist-style hold on college football and nobody seems to care. Follow the money. When I got back to Casper I cleaned birds for two hours and then worked to make coq au vin, which means cock with wine for those of you who failed French and much else in your lives. This dish requires half a bottle of Bordeaux. That stateside crap doesn't quite work. If you can't sacrifice a half bottle of Bordeaux then I suggest giving your cocks away to someone who understands vitality. Take your kids to Pizza Ranch.
It's been a quiet fall. John Venable, poet and cheese monger, was out for the leaf change. We camped in the Sierra Madres and soaked in the Hobo Pool at Saratoga. Henry is turning out to be a pure flushing dog. This is his third season. Now you can tell when he scents a bird. He's all business and he seems to enjoy hunting pheasants more than I do, which is saying a lot. Rocket, 14 no, is still getting around. his nose is fading, but he knows where to look. The two hunted well together this weekend in eastern Wyoming. Let s see if we can make something of the season.