SPORTING: Best of all, I love the fall.

My dog  Shelby begins her staring right about the time I sit down for dinner.  She sits still, perfectly composed, staring, and I do my best to ignore her. Sometimes I share my meal to buy myself some time, but she always wins.
Last nights dinner was beef stew which contains two of her favorite ingredients; carrots and beef.  This did little to placate her, and I eventually gave up.  I covered my bowl, poured myself a drink (Forty Creek Canadian Whiskey) and grabbed a plastic bag. "Want...to...go...for...a...........walk?" I ask, and during the long pauses between words, she twitches and turns, up until the moment I say "walk", and she runs to the back door with her nose pressed against the glass.  I twist the knob and she pushes the door open, charging into the back yard like a bull into the ring.  Out the gate and onto the street she is in full-sniff mode.  I walk, stop, and sip, waiting for her.  Last night the air was cool and was the first time it truly felt like fall, but it didn't feel like an LA fall, more like a Santa Cruz fall.  The air was heavier.  Maybe it was because rain is on the way.  I walked and sipped as she sniffed every tree, corner, and fence post on the block.  Its hard for me to walk slow on our walks, slow enough for her to enjoy herself.  I started thinking of all of the different places I lived and how the fall of each differed.

Fall is when I come alive.  There's a switch that goes off in my body and I feel a visceral change. I don't know if it's ingrained in my DNA or comes from years of living on  a farm, but the fall has always been a time to celebrate.  It is the time of the harvest, the time to reap what you've hopefully sewn.  It is the time I break out my puffy vest, my cardigan sweater and my wool shirts.  It is the time I break out the rye, bourbon, whiskey, and scotch. It is the time when my kitchen smells like pot roast and chili and coq au vin. It is the time to split wood and build fires. It is the time to sneak off and do some Chukar hunting.  It is the time for the heavy jazz.

We turned the corner and started heading back to the house.  My drink was almost empty.  This is when Shelby starts getting excited and running around the yards, but last night she got "birdy" and stopped still with her nose in the neighbors bushes.  The hair on my arms stood up and I froze, my ears and eyes straining.  She inched closer and a rat darted out the side of the bush running to the closest hedgerow.  I led the rat and pulled my trigger finger just as it disappeared into the bushes.

Back in the house, I gave her a carrot and poured myself another drink.  She fell asleep on the couch and I finished my stew and listened to Billie Holiday.

I need to plan another hunting trip.