I Give Thanks ... lots of it

Today I give thanks.

And while I’m thankful first of all for family and friends, I’m also thankful for the little things.

I’m thankful when the hard-breathing dog I’ve sent into the cattails to retrieve a rooster goes silent. It means he has a bird in his mouth.

There’s always a moment of apprehension when you swing on a bird, squeeze the trigger, and watch it plummet into thick cover. Pheasants have a habit of crashing spectacularly, only to hit the ground running. You hate to leave a wounded bird, and it’s always with great relief that I watch one of the spaniels emerge from the cover holding a rooster.

I’m also thankful for a bend in my rod.

It doesn’t take much, just a little bow will do. I originally wrote, “a bend in my rod and the sound of line being pulled off my reel,” but realized that was not true. If I needed to hear a screaming drag every time I went fishing, I’d spend most of my days on the water disappointed. Instead, I get a thrill when the rod doubles over and I’m simply hung up on the bottom.

I’m very thankful for the opportunities Montana offers: the vast expanses of public land, liberal hunting seasons, and lack of crowds.

I hunt more days than not from the first of September through New Years Day. I do most of my hunting on public land. This year I didn’t see another hunter until the opening of pheasant season. That’s priceless, although a bit disturbing.

I’m also thankful for the more mundane things like four-wheel drive and micro-breweries, thick socks and thin gloves.

I’m thankful for the Leatherman on my belt when the dogs get too close to a porcupine, and for the heater in the pickup when I return with my boots filled with swamp water.

I’m thankful for the sound of geese and cranes flying high overhead on crisp fall days, for the sight of a muley buck disappearing over a ridge at dusk, and for all the birds that flush out of range and escape unscathed.

I’m thankful for the shots I make and for those I don’t.

Perhaps most of all, I’m thankful for the opportunity: to take a shot, make a cast, or simply take a hike.

And I’m always very thankful when the dog in the cattails goes silent.

Parker Heinlein is at

[email protected]