Judy and I were married Nov 26, 1976. We lived in a small studio apartment in Irving Texas for the first couple of years. I missed my goose hunting, so that first year we were married, we spent Christmas at home in La Porte, Texas.
Being newlyweds and broke as a church mouse, my goose hunting options were slim to none. There was one salvation. The Barrows Ranch in Anahuac. It offered unguided goose hunts for five dollars a day.
Even on our bleak budget we could afford five dollars. So my twenty-year-old bride and I drove to Barrows Ranch, paid our five dollars and went goose hunting.
It was very dry, so we were able to drive in the field and put out our spread of maybe 300 flat rags. We put on our white parkas and of course, bird watched. Judy thought it was just great.
It was warm, sunshiny and little to no wind. Wave after wave of geese flew over that were hell bent to go anywhere but where we were.
But low and behold, here came one dumbass snow goose, and I killed it. I was the hero. Our trusty Lab, Choby, brought the goose back to me, and it wasn't dead. I had to finish the job the best I could, so I bit his head, cracking his little skull in an effort to put him out of his misery quickly. She wouldn't kiss me for a long time after that. Come to think of it, she still doesn't want to kiss me too often.
She was quite the trooper. I did trick her into eating the damn thing.
For the next hunt, it was 35 degrees and misty rain. She didn't think too much of the second hunt.