If It Flies, It Dies. . .

pheasant.074116It’s Father & Son Week at Carpe Vino.  For the first time ever, Drew and I are embarking on a hunting trip. . .we’re both armed to the teeth, headed to South Dakota with the aim of limiting out on pheasant.  I haven’t been in the field since we left Illinois some 15 years ago, so this could be a very exciting adventure.

Going after birds is the only kind of hunting in which I have an interest, and like most wing shooters, I eat everything I kill.  And, no, I don’t feel badly about it, because I am a carnivore and I know where meat comes from.

Drew, on the other hand, is an avid hunter, and he has gone after all kinds of game:  wild boar, turkey and deer.  He loves it so much,  I think he probably even has a Cabella’s credit card.

I’m not sure how this is going to end up.  We’ll be living in a dormitory situation with about a dozen other guys, all friends or family of Drew’s buddy, Grenny Sutcliffe of Auburn.  Guess it’s going to be a guy thing.

We’ll be back next Wednesday, just in time to sample the Greek menu.  Maybe I can talk the Chef into roasting up some pheasant, Athenian style.