The Snipe Hunt

Both of the men walked into the kitchen with mean looks on their faces. Ben stopped by the stove and asked, “Why didn’t you boys tell us you were going home? We been out in the cold a-lookin’ for ya all night.” Well, I knew that was a lie, but I couldn’t say anything back to an adult, so instead I said, “Didn’t you get the note we left on the windshield of the truck? It said the weather had gone bad so we had returned home.” Both men just looked at each other with a dumb look on their faces and then Red said, “Nope, we just cleared off the snow on the drivers side and ya know the wipers don’t work on the left side, so it’s most likely still stuck to the winder.”

“Well, have a seat fellers.” Bubba spoke with a big smile on his face and his eyes were dancing with mirth. “W . . . Why?” Uncle Ben asked as he looked around the kitchen. I opened the oven door on the stove and pulled out a roasting pan with six small birds cooking in the center of it. Immediately I could smell the spices and the aroma of the roasted meat. Uncle Red was the first to recover as he asked, “What kind of birds are them?” I lifted the heavy roasting pan and placed it on the stove as I replied, “Snipe, Uncle Red, Bubba and I caught six of ‘em last night.” My two old Uncles threw a glance at each other and I could see deep shock in Red’s eyes. He was trying to figure out how we could have caught, cleaned and cooked six birds that didn’t exist in Missouri. At that point he was one confused man. “Come over to the table and let’s eat these birds!” Bubba commanded as he pulled out and chair and sat down.

All through the meal my Uncles kept asking us questions about the birds, how did we catch ‘em, how fast were they, how many ran down the trail at once, and so on. Both of the men commented on how great the small birds tasted and how much they enjoyed the meal. Red even thought they tasted like turkey.

Finally, after the birds were nothing but a small pile of bones on each plate, Ben looked over at me and asked, “Will you guys take me and Red snipe huntin’ tonight?” It took all I had to not laugh as I said, “Sure Uncle Red, sure. But, it all depends on the weather, ‘cause I think these little birds love snow.”

I guess most of ya will want to know if we took my Uncles snipe hunting that night, but that’s a different story. You know, that hunt happened more than thirty years ago and Bubba lee and I still laugh about it at times when we’re sharing a meal. It is amazing what two young boys, two old men, and six frozen Cornish Game Hens can add to a person’s hunting memories.

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