Pat, as someone who had a son stillborn, that story really hit home and I thank you very much for sharing with us.

My favorite hunt didn't result in a bird. It didn't even result in a bird being within 50 yards, but it's one I'll never forget never-the-less. Two years ago, I took my 5 year old son along with me for his first hunt. He was not going to be the shooter, but I wanted very much for him to go along and share my time in the outdoors with me. So for weeks, I prepared for opening day to make sure his hunt would be memorable. I finally decided on a large corn field that the birds tended to come to shortly after flydown. I went out the day before the hunt and put up my blind in a fence row directly facing the ridge where the birds would be roosting.

The morning of the hunt, I was surprised to find my son already awake at 3:30 when I went into his bedroom to get him. After a quick breakfast and helping him into his camo, we hurried out the door, not sure what lay in store for us. As we arrived at the spot, I found my blind had been knocked over in a thunderstorm the night before. Hurriedly, I fixed the blind and put some branches on the blind to break us up. Just as the sun began peaking over the mountain behind us, we settled into the Doghouse blind and prepared. It was a fairly cool morning (high 30's), and the birds didn't gobble until a full 45 minutes after first light, but my son remained patient. Finally, I heard a bird sound off well to the left of our position. I asked my son if he heard it, but he hadn't. Suddenly, a bird ripped off a gobble directly accross the field from us. I turned to ask John if he'd heard the gobble, but I could tell immediately that he had heard it. His eyes were the size of quarters as he exclaimed "He's right on top of us!!!" I could tell right then that he was hooked!!! Soon, 5 different birds were screaming back and forth to each other and everything looked good. I made a few calls and hoped the dekes I had layed out would bring the birds into us. After 15 minutes of hollering, the birds quited down and I knew they were coming. Sure enough, one by one, 7 different birds soared into the field (4 gobblers and 3 hens). Again, I looked over to see if John saw the birds, but he was already counting..."One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven turkeys, daddy!!" The birds were about 75 yards away and generally moving in our direction. I didn't know who was more excited, John or me. Things were coming together like they rarely do when turkey hunting when the hens began to turn and feed slowly to the ridge that they had came from. Try as I might, I couldn't lure one of the toms to my set up and I couldn't turn the hens and within 20 minutes, all of the birds were safely back in the woods. We stayed for a while, but couldn't get any birds to answer us and my son soon began to get cold, so we headed to a local restaurant for some breakfast. I couldn't have been prouder than when the waitress, seeing my son in full camo asked if he had been hunting. His reply still rings in my ears to this day..."Yeah!! I'm a turkey hunter, just like my daddy!!!"

I think that day just proves that it's not the kills that drags us out in the woods at ungodly hours, it's the stories and the memories that will live in us until we breath our last breath.

Sorry this was so long, fellas!!

Slice