One bad thing about being born in the 1990s is that you missed growing up in the 1970s, when we had the great fall tradition of hunting pheasants in the fields around Spanish Fork, with Grandpa's black Lab, Bart, leading the way for us, BYU football on somebody's radio as we walked through the cut grain, and hot chili at Grandma's house at the end of the day.
My boys have missed out on this and I've never even taken them bird hunting with me. I've only been able to go a few times since they've been little, and it's mostly been on school days and to pheasant farms where you pay your way.
We actually made an effort this year and Bryce got his hunter education finished in time for the fall hunt. Wildlife Resources sponsors a youth-only pheasant hunt which was held today in Huntington. The weather couldn't have been better and Bryce managed to bag his first bird despite the cub scout flunkout hunting dogs we had with us. (Can't complain since we don't even have a dog). There were several other roosters he had a chance at, but Bryce humanely decided to just "train" the birds for other hunters by giving them the experience of being shot at and missed. I think some of these birds lived for almost five minutes after that. There were a lot of guns around.
So tomorrow night he and I get to share a manly man-snack of grilled pheasant breast. Bryce wouldn't believe me when I told him that on your first bird, you have to rip the heart out and eat it raw. I did that, didn't I, Dad?
Edit: I just looked at the photo. Who the heck wears a "Vote for Pedro" shirt hunting?