Pennsylvania Game News - Feburary 2011 - 11

silently slipped off his vest, tucked a diaphragm call in his mouth against his cheek, and sat down to wait for the ancient mating ritual to begin. Hearing the birds had, for a short-lived moment, excited him, but scarcely as much as in the past, when the sound of a turkey had caused his heart to beat so loud he was worried the turkeys would hear it. As he sat in the cold darkness, he remembered a morning 10 years earlier, when he had been walking in that very same meadow with 1-year-old Murphy. The old man had to chuckle slightly, because that was the first time the dog had seen a turkey — he jumped two jakes from near a blown-down tree. As the turkeys rose from the ground, the dog actually managed to get hold of some tail feathers from one of the birds, and by the time the old man reached him, Murphy was sitting on the ground with a mouth full of feathers. The old man’s thoughts were suddenly brought back to the present by the sound of turkeys flying down from their roost above him, followed immediately by several gobbles from the treetops to his right. The old man answered the gobblers with some muffled clucks and purrs, which were promptly answered by the gobblers. The exchange went back and forth for close to 40 minutes until the old man finally saw the bobbing baseball-size heads of three gobblers moving toward him. As they neared, it was easy to see two were jakes, with 4- to 5-inch beards, but the other appeared to be a mature bird, sporting a beard maybe 11 inches in length. As the three glistening black shapes closed to within range, they all went into full strut. With the soft morning sunlight reflecting off their feathers, the sheer beauty of the sight caused the old man to catch his breath. It was then the old man noticed one of the jakes was missing several tail feathers. He knew that this was common with spring gobblers, because of the fighting that takes place as they establish their pecking order in the flock, but
FEBRUARY 2011

he had to wonder. As soon as he had the front sight of the Remington 870 centered on the base of the jake’s neck, a load of No. 5s brought the bird down. The old man knelt with the gobbler and, as he stroked its iridescent feathers and whispered his thanks to the Creator for another harvest of one of His most beautiful creations, he added, “This one’s for you, Murphy, till we meet again in golden fields, as I must believe we will (or I won’t go). Goodbye, my friend, and from now on, we will remember only our good times together.” Walking toward the cabin, carrying the jake, the old man no longer gazed with sorrow at the well-known logging roads he and his retriever had crossed and re-crossed between grouse coverts. After crossing a spot below camp where a narrow silver brook threaded between the oaks and the meadow, he knew it had to have been the wind swirling the leaves, but swore he heard soft footsteps following behind him. The old man didn’t turn around, he didn’t have to; he was now at peace. During Murphy’s life he scattered love around our house and to those he met like the wind scatters golden fall leaves. And for that he will forever be remembered.

Pennsylvania Game News - Feburary 2011

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