Pheasant

For the sake of my kids who read this, I stumbled across this photo of me, age 17, holding a pheasant I shot in the back yard of my grandmother's house. I recall the day and asking her to pluck and clean the pheasant for supper. For those of you who knew my grandmother, you will know it was a polite request, not a demand. She suggested that I do it myself so I did. I made her take this picture first.

The bird took a fair load of #7 shot...and I ended up picking some pellets out of the bird as I ate it. I've never been fond of pheasant (all dark meat) and I didn't know how to cook it, so it was tough as shoe leather.

However, since I stalked it and flushed it in the back yard, I was proud of my kill so had to eat it. After that I shot them in the head from my bedroom window with a .22 and gave the fresh kills to neighbors.

Note the dirt road in front of the house. They're paved there now, but yes, I did have to walk a mile to school on dirt roads when I was a kid...