
Today, rather than give up a sport that has been a passion for so long, I have learned to somewhat compensate for the nasty little surprises my aging body has waiting for me: diminished energy, painful joints, a bad back, neuropathy, hammertoes and muscle cramps. There are also paybacks for an assortment of freaky accidents like a falling tree crushing my shoulder and my snapping both Achilles tendons a year apart in overly optimistic and ridiculous attempts to play basketball again.
As few as 15 years ago, pheasant hunting for me was an uncomplicated affair. I arose at 5:00 a.m. so I could be in my favorite draw by dawn. I dressed, laced up my boots, grabbed my 12-gauge, my shells and my dog, a Thermos of coffee, a jug of water, a couple Snickers bars and an apple; I was out of the house in 15 minutes. I’d hunt until I had my threebird limit or until dark – whichever came first – and on weekends, I’d do it all over again the next day.
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THE BIG HURTS
my Uncle Pat once told me that both pain and disappointment were good:“The more of those you have experienced,” he explained, “the longer you have lived; suffer but a little, and you’re in an early grave.

Day's End
NEAR MISSES

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Profile of an Artist: MATT DOYLE
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RED CAR WHITE DOG:
A Riff on Sporting Vehicles and Other Matters

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Charles Helles & Sons, London
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Tail feathers - STANDARDS AND PRACTICES
\"An armed society is a polite society,\" the NRA says in one of its dicta, cribbed from Robert A. Heinlein, a 20th-century American science fiction writer.