By Nick Simonson
That favorite day of many outdoorsmen is fast approaching – pheasant opener. With head bowed, eyes skyward (is that physically possible?) and tongue firmly in cheek, we pray that divine intervention outweighs Murphy’s Law this autumn with the following blessing:
Heavenly God, to whom I pray,
provide me birds this glorious day,
let them flush at decent yard,
from left-to-right, that’s not so hard.
Keep skies clear and slightly brisk,
so over-heating’s not a risk,
instead of snow or rain so wet,
the kind of crap I often get.
Guide my dog from coon and skunk,
and well away from swampy funk,
so my spouse when petting Rover,
says not “he smells of death warmed over.”
Lead me not into barbed wire,
which rips and ruins my field attire,
but if you do, please keep a watch,
that it tears the leg and not the crotch.
And ward away from me that seed,
which to the land spreads noxious weed,
gets in my clothes, and my dog’s fur,
that damned-annoying cocklebur.
Let my aim be true and square,
and that of friends just hit the air,
so I connect my early shot,
and take their cash from the first-bird pot.
Lord have my roosters be old and frail,
so they’re scared to death, if my shots fail,
and let them fall and never run,
for miles and miles of steeplechase fun.
Nor let the parts on my gun stick,
or fail or jam, or breakdown quick,
like they always seem to do,
right when the birds come flying through.
And in late season, please guarantee,
that frozen waters will hold me,
or if I go through, just ankle deep,
and not three miles out from the Jeep.
Help to keep my ire in check,
if I miss and wonder what the heck,
replace with “darn” and then “oh well,”
the usual curse words that I yell.
And while I’m out, please keep an eye,
for sales on things my spouse will buy,
to punish me for having fun,
and the Honey-Do list I’ve left undone.
For these hunting things I pray,
and with your blessing and okay,
make it a autumn full of luck,
and one more thing…can the Vikes not suck?