|The birth of a goose hunter|
By Will Maines
THE?CANOE?SLIPPED through quiet water on an early autumn afternoon. Maple trees along the shoreline were just starting to fill out in their briefly worn coats of fire red.
In the front seat of the canoe was a young lad, small for his age, a venerable Winchester pump 20-gauge propped against the bow piece. The stern paddle was handled by his father, an identical Winchester except in 12-gauge crossways in front of him.
A cream-colored Chesapeake retriever watched with bright, alert eyes as the pair paddled the canoe toward a blunt point covered with cattails on the far side of the lake.
Nothing escaped the eye of the retriever, a veteran almost as experienced as his master in the matters of duck and goose hunting.
|Tuesday, August 28, 2012 2:10 PM|