Sammy's ride:

(Someone said something about changing boxes changing luck and Sammy did alright by us, so he's going out the way he came in.)
He started his day hanging out with the poule d'eaus in the Mudhole, and we started ours with this sweet pelt on my in-blind trap line. Assa and Jr. ain't got pecans on Sammy and me:

And our morning hunt was enough better than the rest of the marsh's that folks were only half kidding about procuring gulls of their own:

The afternoon goose hunt, however, was, through no fault of Sammy's, a different story:

I called in Flightstopper's first specklebelly for a nicely made layup before I was even in the blind with them, and everything looked set for a sweet and easy afternoon shoot: good wind, birds moving and a number of nearby bodies of birds.
Then Mrs. Flightstopper went and did it. She'd been told about the consequence of stating "This ain't my first rodeo." but, like Eve who just had to try that damned old apple that was the only thing forbidden her, she just had to give it a go. Even thought it was cute. And the wind stopped dead, the birds stopped trafficking and, just like that, we went from hunting to having a pleasant visit in the field. Was dang near sunset when we scratched our second goose out of a flight that should have yielded at least a couple more:

Flightstopper had no trouble at all identifying the source of our ill fortune:

Hated that our goose luck soured, but it was still a great day with a couple of great kids who are more than welcome to share my blind anytime. And I'm certain the coyote would feel the same, even if Mrs. Flightstopper hadn't bought him a box of Milkbones.
We passed a fine time.
Oh, and, Flightstopper, assa's nemesis is spelled paille-en-tchew