We made our way down to the creek by following the old horse tails that wind through the hills. We’ve had little rain this year and the water is only ankle deep for the most part. Shelly searched the sandy shore for bird tracks and gave me a withering look when I laughed at her. To her credit, she did find some tracks, though they were those of some mammal and not a bird. The tracks of a coyote, dog, or raccoon I reckon they were by gum, by cracky.
To my discomfort, there were also some odd scuff-like marks that looked to have been left by a rotter. Then again, the tracks could have been left by some small animal dragging its prey over the sand. I’ll be the first to admit I’m no Daniel Boone. I’ll also admit I never believed there was a turkey running around these parts, but there is. I heard one with my own ears towards sunset last night. Even I know what a turkey sounds like.
We saw no sense in trying to hunt the bird in the dark and called it a day. We made our way to a house we’d checked out earlier and deemed safe for the night. Safe or not, we slept in an upstairs room and barricaded the door for good measure.
It’s now the morning of the twentieth and we’re getting ready to bag us a turkey. Now that I know one exists, I’m actually raring to go. Our only problem: how do we finish the job. All we have are a couple 9mm handguns, and neither of us are expert marksmen. We can probably get away with a shot or two without attracting a horde of living dead down on us, but to just start blasting away is out of the question. I guess we’ll play it by ear.
The internet’s not presently working. I’ll post this when I get the chance.