SOME GOBBLES are so faint, they sound like the briefest roar of a distant crowd. At least I thought it was a gobble. I cutt. The crowd roared. I reached for my cell phone. “Turkey just started gobbling,” I tapped out. “Tell dogs to hang on, please.”
For me, hunting turkeys in the time of COVID meant crating the dogs before I left in the morning so they wouldn’t bomb my wife’s Zoom meetings, then getting home before they got too antsy. Sometimes I’d walk them and go out again, sometimes we’d walk, then nap.
My self-imposed 8:30