One Day at the Feed Store

By Patrick T. Donnelly

The sky was a deep blue that you only see on cold winter days. Their breath was like large clouds of steam rolling into the frigid air. Billy and Ely headed up the slope to check on the next set, and to their amazement, once again they had been blessed. Through the woods and fields around his home Ely taught Billy all about the outdoors. Little did Billy know that those days would help mold him into the man he needed to be as he grew and his skills were called upon to help keep the place we call home safe for all. Join Billy and Ely as the adventure begins one day at the feed store and takes him to all parts of the globe!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483454856

Book preview

Donnelly

Copyright © 2016 Patrick T. Donnelly.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5486-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5485-6 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 09/28/2016

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

A CALL TO DUTY

Jensen, we will get right to the point, said the colonel in front of me. Today you did something that has never been done before, and frankly I do not see being done ever again. Not only did you outshoot all of the other competitors today, you shot better than some of our most seasoned snipers! I started to relax just a bit, knowing that it came natural to me after all that Ely had taught me in our years of shooting together. I never gave it a thought that the other competitors wouldn’t have the same abilities I did.

One Day at the Feed Store

To Mom and Dad for being the best parents a person could ask for and to my daughter Rachel, without her help this book would not have been possible. Thank you!

Pat Donnelly, trapper, hunter, motorcycle enthusiast and all around outdoorsman lives the quiet life of hard work and faith with his three daughters and lovely wife on a farm in West Virginia. Having an avid interest in firearms, Pat enjoys shooting, reloading, and hunting in the American West. Working in the lumber industry for many years, Pat’s ear for a good yarn and earnest likability make him a natural storyteller. A diverse life well lived, coupled with an attention to detail imbues him with an eclectic variety of material, fact and fiction, upon which he can spin his stories. He regularly entertains, enlivens and educates through writing numerous magazine articles for various outdoor-oriented publications. Pat is a devoted Christian and a faithful member of his church and community. Through it all, he maintains his curiosity, humor, zest for life and hard-earned beliefs. Follow Pat and his outdoor adventures at patoutdoors.com

Tony Tresselt and Carol Tennant

CHAPTER

1

B eing completely consumed by the moment, I never even realized it had started to rain. The soft sound of the rain and the ever-increasing drops as they fell on the leaves around me broke my concentration, be it for just a few short moments. Even though I was now soaked to the bone, my determination was not about to wane at this point.

You see, I knew the squirrel in the oak tree above me wanted to get out of this rain—as any sensible creature would—but first, he had to make his way around the front of the massive tree. His angry barks told me he was aware that there was a trespasser in his woods, and he was not at all happy about it. The first and last mistake my little friend made was to peer around a branch to see if the interloper still violated his world. It was the moment I had been waiting for. The distinct crack of a .22 long rifle bullet ended our stalemate as he fell to the forest floor. This time I was the victor, but even at the age of fourteen I knew that more times than not the victory would go to another one of God’s creatures—not me.

Thinking back to this time yesterday, I knew the coming night would be a sleepless one. This was the first year my Dad would let me hunt on my own and, boy oh boy, the plans I had. Now, twenty-four hours later, I was warm and cozy, roasting two nice squirrels over my fire. Life looked pretty good. I was in my official hunting camp, and the tarp above and behind kept out the rain that was still gently falling. A quick look at the sky showed a few stars here and there between fast-moving clouds. The weather was clearing, and the temperature would soon start to drop—but I was ready! The extra blanket I had brought would come in handy tonight.

My meal was ready, and it was worth the wait. I savored every morsel and was very content as I laid back and gazed at the stars. I was a hunter! I provided meat for the table, and I thought that there was nowhere in this world a more noble profession. Now if that did not show my arrogance as well as my ignorance, I do not know what would. There was burning desire in me to live off the land and prove to myself that any obstacle could be overcome. I knew I needed two things to do this, and they had to be worked together in order to have the desired outcome. I must be willing to work hard and plan ahead. The first one was easy since it had been instilled in me since I was able to walk beside my Dad and older brothers on the farm where we lived and worked. Being on a large farm, work was never in short supply. We did it all, from corn to beans to hay. We also raised beef cattle and a fair number of hogs. So, as you can see, the work was never-ending no matter what time of year.

Now the other part of the equation was planning. On this one I followed what Dad did, and I tried to use his way of reasoning to come up with a plan whenever I needed one. Dad was never one to make a wasted motion. Everything he did seemed to be for a certain purpose, and I wanted to emulate him every chance I had.

Now lying back on my blankets looking up into the star-filled sky with the comforting smell of my banked fire, I wondered what the future would hold. Could the dreams of a boy of fourteen really happen? The burning desire to know all I could about the outdoors is one which has not faded through the years.

I still vividly remember the day it all started. The day that fever hit me. Dad and my older brothers hunted deer each fall. There was a meat pole next to the barn; seeing those deer hanging there had me chomping at the bit to be part of their yearly ritual. Now this year I was finally old enough. I didn’t think I had slept a wink the night before my first hunt; but when Dad shook me awake, I knew I must’ve dozed a little. Mom was awake and the smell of bacon frying and coffee perking had my stomach growling. The talk soon turned to who would shoot first, where we would sit, and of course, who would get the biggest buck.

Although I was not given a gun to carry, I would be hunting with the men and that was honor enough for me. The sky was still dark, and it was cold, cold enough that when I exhaled it came out in a great cloud of vapor when we set out that morning. Dad looked down and said, Don’t worry. The walking will warm you up soon enough. He was right.

Before long, I shed my coat, so I wouldn’t start to sweat. Dad had decided to let me sit with him as long as I promised to be quiet. I followed his every move and carefully sat down when he did, slowly positioning myself to get the best view of the surrounding country. Now the light was just starting to make itself known as the shadows slowly faded. I watched Dad’s breath rising into the cold, clear morning air. He was intently staring into the openings in the trees several hundred yards distant. I followed his gaze and saw two deer feeding. As I watched them, I saw movement further out into the trees. At that moment Dad slowly raised his rifle. Although I didn’t know much about weapons, I can still vividly remember that beat up old .30.06 with the Redfield scope. I imagine that gun put more meat in our freezer than all the others in our house.

I had noticed a really nice buck farther out in the woods when I heard him click off the safety. Now what I did next amazed even me. I looked up to him and said, No, Dad. Don’t shoot!

He never liked being interrupted, but especially not at a time of deep concentration.

Why not? he asked in an irritated whisper.

There’s a really big buck in the woods out beyond those others, and I think you would rather shoot him than one of them does.

He stared for a minute, and then finally the rifle came up against his bearded cheek. He clicked the safety off and whispered, Cover your ears.

The big gun roared, and I did my best to keep looking where the deer was. I saw the buck hump up from the shock of the bullet and head out fast. Keeping my eyes trained on him, I saw the buck stumble and fall into a patch of briers. I thought my heart might pound out of my chest.

Dad, you got him! I yelled. I could not contain my excitement.

Not one given to talk much, my ramblings and enthusiasm finally caused him to hold up his hand and say, Enough already.

I instantly shut my mouth and put my head down, ashamed of myself.

Now don’t go and get upset. I’m not angry at you. We just need to head down there and find some blood, to pick up his trail.

I know right where he is! The words flew from my mouth. I saw the bullet hit, and I watched him fall into a patch of briers. I can bring you right to him!

He looked at me curiously and said, I could hardly make out it was a buck through the scope, but you saw him in the woods and now you can see where he lays?

I nodded.

He’s right down there, I said to him, and he followed the direction of my outstretched finger. Dad squinted and looked and squinted some more. Then he looked at me and shrugged, Why don’t you just show me, Eagle Eye? I don’t see a thing.

That was all it took. I tore down that bank as fast as I could, dodging briers, fallen trees, and the occasional cow that had wandered in to see what all the commotion was about. Soon I was standing over the incredible animal and waving back up at Dad to show him where I was. He followed, slightly out of breath but with a smile on his face.

Son, you really impressed me today. That vision of yours is unbelievable! Even at your age, I couldn’t see nowhere near as well as you. He gave me an unexpected hug and knelt down. He motioned for me to do the same. In his short and to the point fashion, he gave thanks for everything in his life, including the ability to hunt with his sons, and especially his youngest, who just joined the ranks.

Our buck was more massive than anything I had seen before, and no sooner had Dad started gutting him than three of my brothers arrived.

He told them the whole story, leaving nothing out, and he emphasized my part in great detail. My brothers slapped me on the back and told me it was beginner’s luck, but they still made me feel I was now part of the men who hunted these woods. It was a great feeling helping them carry the buck to the meat pole beside the barn. As Mom heard the story, she held her hand to her mouth and shook her head approvingly. She gave me a hug that lasted a little longer than I thought I needed. When she finally let me go I said, But Mom, Dad shot the buck, not me!

She looked at me, and I saw a small tear slide down her red cheek. She turned away wiping her hands on her apron, mumbling something about biscuits and deer hunters and a few other things I couldn’t hear.

What’s wrong with Mom? I asked.

You’re the youngest, Billy, Dad said. She sees you becoming more of a man and less of her baby each day, and it upsets her. But don’t worry. She’ll be fine soon enough. Now go help your brothers. We have animals to feed, firewood to bring in, and a deer to skin!

I ran off to help. The thought of that exchange between Mom, Dad, and me on that cold winter day, as the old potbelly stove glowed in the background, made me happy and sad at the same time.

I would talk to Mom tonight as she sat in her chair relaxing after another non-stop day. That was always the best time to get her attention, although, as I thought on it, she would always drop whatever she was doing if any of her babies needed anything.

Later that evening after the supper dishes were done I talked to Mom, and she thanked me for being so thoughtful. She knew where my interests lay, and at times I’m sure she wished I was just the small boy who was into everything and asked her a stream of questions about everything under the sun. I was growing up, she knew, but at times she didn’t have to like it. Another kiss and hug, and I was off to bed to lie awake for what seemed like hours going over the events of the day.

Lying under the stars in my camp that night recalling my first deer hunt and thinking about Dad and Mom, my brothers, and a hundred other things, I drifted off to a contented sleep. The sleep didn’t last long; there was something—or someone—in my camp. I remembered reading somewhere that you should just lie still and pretend to sleep but open your eyes just slightly and try to catch a glimpse of any movement. I didn’t have to wait long. The all-too-familiar smell of a polecat on the prowl proved too much for my limited patience. I ripped off my blankets; in that split second, I realized that the skunk was pointed in the wrong direction.

My sudden appearance not only scared the little critter but also provoked it to release to the world its foul-smelling yellow spray. I dove out of the way, but I was not quite quick enough. I felt the spray hit the side of my face and my arm. I probably would have done anything to go back in time about five minutes and make this all go away, but I knew full well I was hit, and there was no changing it. In my haste I at least had the sense to grab my rifle and hightail it toward home.

As I came to the top of the hill, I started shedding clothes, letting them fall where they may. Running down the hill, eyes burning and smelling as bad as a person can, I reached the back porch. The hour was late but Mom was still up getting her kitchen ready for the morning. She heard the commotion and ran to the door, but she slammed it just as quickly as she had opened it.

Everything off! she said.

She was soon rummaging in the cupboards. She opened a window and quickly handed through two jars. What was in those jars was by definition a cure for the smell which covered me. The vile liquid was tomato based, but that is where the similarities to tomato juice ended. With over a dozen other ingredients, this concoction had been used by every member of the family, including Mom. As bad as it smelled, it did work. The bad part was that it meant a long cold night on the porch away from everybody until you were given the okay to take a shower—the shower head mounted on the side of the barn had hot water piped over from the house. That hot shower and a nice warm bed were something to look forward to after a long cold night.

Soak every part of you with that. Then we’ll think about a bath. And get rid of those clothes!

It was almost morning when I finally was given the all clear that enough of the stink was gone. I would now be tentatively allowed to become a member of the family again. Having Dad and four brothers to deal with, I knew the teasing would start right away. They didn’t let me down. That morning at breakfast their comments were nonstop, but the one saving grace was they all gave me a wide berth. I had the breakfast table all to myself, except for Mom, of course. She still had everything ready and never skirted me as all the rest did. She was once again the strong silent one who never got a wink of sleep and never complained. Dad was as tough as anybody I had ever met, but so was Mom. It took a while for me to realize it, but I had the greatest folks in the world! That campout was the first of many adventures to come.

As the days passed and my smell became tolerable once again, the family gathered for our meals and normal life on the farm returned. This was Christmas break for my brother, Tony, and me; but my older brothers—Karl, Ralph, and Terry—had already graduated and were now working fulltime on the farm. Chopping firewood was a constant chore, which was addressed at least twice a week. We put up a good bit during the summer and fall, but any spare time was spent adding to the pile. Our outside wood stove supplied heat and hot water for the house, as well as for several outbuildings and the shop. We were good friends with a logger in the area; when he was cutting nearby, he would drop off a few tri axle loads for us. In turn, we butchered a calf for him each year.

Some mornings it was hard to pull the covers off a nice warm bed and face the work day ahead; but knowing there was a slight chance that I could slip away and explore a new section of country, I would hop out of bed and pull on my long johns.

As we sat around the breakfast table one cool fall morning, Dad asked if I wanted to go to the feed store with him. Torn between the chance to get off to the woods and spending time with Dad, I chose the trip to town. It took a good half hour to get there, and the heater in the truck sure felt good that morning. Walking into the feed store was always a treat. All the feeds with their different smells, the old men with their coveralls tucked into their boots, and the constant conversation about all things farming really made me happy that I called this area home.

The men in the feed store always had something to say, and at times I was allowed to sit and listen. Today was no different but one which would change my life forever! While walking back from the warehouse to check on our order, I heard one of the old men talking about his lambs. Or should I say, ". . . the lambs he used to have?"

With the number of coyotes we have around, I’m surprised any of us have any livestock left at all! What I need to find is some young fellow I can teach to catch those critters. Now that perked me up real quick! Dad told me his name was Ely and that he ran a few head of cows and some sheep on about 250 acres.

He is quite the character but a good honest man and one to look up to. He has helped me out of a few jams in the past and is a man who can turn his hand to about anything.

Dad walked over and shook Ely’s hand and introduced me to