cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Double Kill I knew well enough not to turn my head when I heard the first low, tentative clucks in the forest behind me. Behind me. Why does shit always have to happen right behind me? The first clucks were followed by others. A squirrel? No. Two squirrels? Perhaps. No, there was now a sort of general rustling in the leaves all around to the rear of me. It was time to turn around very slowly. What I saw was a veritable forest of saurian heads bobbing their way hesitantly through the strip of trees and cover between myself and the river. They had no idea that I was there. I carefully shifted my body around. Nope. They sensed me and 30 or so of those dinosaur-like heads on long necks poking up from the underbrush turned towards me in unison. I had that tiny flash of a second or two during which their pea-sized turkey brains would process my existence before bolting. My shotgun came up as a reflex and I chose the top of one long neck to balance the bead on as I squeezed the trigger. There was no sound. There never is. Or rather there must have been but I almost never hear the sound of the shotgun or the rifle during a hunt. What I did become aware of was an enormous kerfuffle of panicked wild turkeys having a massive fit all around me as they figured out which way to run. Ignoring them, I walked to where the dead turkey must be. As it turned out, there were 2 turkeys there. A second one must have been right behind the first, undetected to me. Well. So much the better. But neither of them could be called 'dead' in the strictest sense. Both flailed about, mortally wounded. I drew my stainless steel Ruger .22 pistol, which I carry on my hip while hunting for exactly this purpose. I shot one turkey through the head. This had not nearly the effect that I'd expected. The broad, powerful wings continued to move with a slow, steady beat. I reached out with one hand across the huge bird's back and held it down as I drew a hunting knife from my belt with the other. I looked into the turkey's eye. It was large and staring and empty. I felt as if I was staring at a dinosaur. It's scaly feet clawed at the air, reinforcing that saurian image. Swiftly I hacked at the creature's neck, cutting off the head. Immediately I moved to the next bird, not bothering to shoot that one with the Ruger but going straight to decapitation. A now headless pair of them continued to beat uselessly at the air with their ponderous great wings. The wings made a deep 'FWOOP FWOOP' sound. I wiped the blade of the knife on the ground. I wiped the blood off of my hand onto my pants leg. The turkeys had a musty, feathery smell. It was time to be done with this business. I swung my backpack to the ground and opened it. I grabbed the first headless wonder and folded it's wings. The thing tried to spread them again. Again I pushed them to the side and shoved it neck stump first into the bag. It's scaly claws grabbing at the air. The same treatment for the second bird. I drew the string shut and snapped the flap closed. The big backpack seemed to roil as if it was alive. Which in a certain sense it was, although that would depend on whether one subscribed to the concept of death being the cessation of the heart beat or the loss of all centralized neurological activity. The point quickly became moot, what with the 2 turkey's heads lying severed in a copse of hardwoods by the river as I walked to the car with my shotgun in hand. 6:50 p.m. - 2008-09-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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