The Dragon Speaks
12-16-2012 | 10:00 PM
#1
Thread Starter
Boone & Crockett
Joined: Apr 2007
Posts: 10,918
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From: River Ridge, LA (Suburb of New Orleans)
The Dragon Speaks
I am the Swamp Dragon. I was born to hunt. I was born to kill. I must FEED!
Several times the man creature who fancies himself my master has restrained me. I could have fed on a tasty doe in November. He held me back. I could have fed on a well muscled spike. He held me back. Does he not understand I must feed?
Saturday evening we once again perched high above a small plot of clover awaiting the arrival of meat. Our expectations were small. The wind was from the South. It was humid and warm. No one has been seeing deer. Even worse, my "master" has informed me that I may not feed on female deer. However, to lessen my disappointment I may now feed on a small buck (even though he would not allow me to do so last month).
We have not seen a deer in our previous five hunts together. He says we are not likely to see one this evening "given the weather conditions". "Our best hope is a hog", he says. That is not a problem. I will eat pork as readily as venison.
Though our primary focus is on the clover plot, we glance occasionally at the 150 yard lane through the pine woods to our left. It's cluttered with fallen trees, brush and debris left by recent logging activity.
On one of those glances we catch a glimpse of a deer crossing the lane. Was it a doe, or a buck? It disappeared into the trees too quickly to tell.
My companion (who I reluctantly admit I am becoming accepting of, if not fond of) gave several short grunts on a buck call. We concentrated our attention on the lane. Two or three minutes later the deer reappeared, holding his head high sniffing the air.
"It's a small buck", whispered my dear hunting companion. "You may feed."
OH GREAT JOY! I am hungry. I am ready. I roar as I attack. The smoke of my roar is spectacular to behold.
Though there is no sign of my prey as the smoke clears, I know I have struck true. We pick up the scent where the buck stood when struck, 85 yards from my perch, and follow his trail.
Twenty minutes later and 100 yards through the woods we find him. His life force was great, for his heart was destroyed by my fierce attack - as I knew it would be.
It is good to feed! He is not large, but I am satisfied.
Several times the man creature who fancies himself my master has restrained me. I could have fed on a tasty doe in November. He held me back. I could have fed on a well muscled spike. He held me back. Does he not understand I must feed?
Saturday evening we once again perched high above a small plot of clover awaiting the arrival of meat. Our expectations were small. The wind was from the South. It was humid and warm. No one has been seeing deer. Even worse, my "master" has informed me that I may not feed on female deer. However, to lessen my disappointment I may now feed on a small buck (even though he would not allow me to do so last month).
We have not seen a deer in our previous five hunts together. He says we are not likely to see one this evening "given the weather conditions". "Our best hope is a hog", he says. That is not a problem. I will eat pork as readily as venison.
Though our primary focus is on the clover plot, we glance occasionally at the 150 yard lane through the pine woods to our left. It's cluttered with fallen trees, brush and debris left by recent logging activity.
On one of those glances we catch a glimpse of a deer crossing the lane. Was it a doe, or a buck? It disappeared into the trees too quickly to tell.
My companion (who I reluctantly admit I am becoming accepting of, if not fond of) gave several short grunts on a buck call. We concentrated our attention on the lane. Two or three minutes later the deer reappeared, holding his head high sniffing the air.
"It's a small buck", whispered my dear hunting companion. "You may feed."
OH GREAT JOY! I am hungry. I am ready. I roar as I attack. The smoke of my roar is spectacular to behold.
Though there is no sign of my prey as the smoke clears, I know I have struck true. We pick up the scent where the buck stood when struck, 85 yards from my perch, and follow his trail.
Twenty minutes later and 100 yards through the woods we find him. His life force was great, for his heart was destroyed by my fierce attack - as I knew it would be.
It is good to feed! He is not large, but I am satisfied.
Last edited by Semisane; 12-17-2012 at 07:38 AM.
