Several years back, I took my young son on his first Goose hunt. We put a few birds in the bag and called it a day. As I was piling the gear into the back of the truck, another flock landed where we had been set up, about 100 yards from where the truck was idling. I grabbed a gun, and walked bold as brass up to the flock. About 50 yards away, they spooked, but one came down when I shot. I tossed it in with the rest and drove the 2 miles to town. While driving down the main street of our sleepy town, I noticed something in the rear-view mirror. It took a second to realize there was a live goose in the back of the truck tearing it up trying to get out.
After I pulled into our driveway, I tried to grab the goose through the partially open camper shell without letting it get away. It took some doing, but I finally got it. While I was wringing its neck, I realized I had an audience. The Mayor, who lived across the street, his Wife, and my Wife had all come to watch. My Wife yelled out to me, "I thought you were supposed to kill them before you brought them home." Everyone had a good laugh. As near as I could tell, I knocked it out with that long-distance shot and tossed it in the truck where it eventually came to on the drive home.
There was a pheasant that came back to life on the drive home with my Brother, Dad, myself, and our wirehair on the interstate in Southern Idaho. The wirehair and the phez made about 3 laps around the inside of the jeep before my Dad got it stopped and the dog finally caught it. After we all realized we were alive, we laughed like idiots. I think all of us were fairly scratched up and shaken although it probably only lasted 10 seconds.
