Grouse season ended last month, Mike. No problem a double now with grouse congregating as they eat birch buds, their ground covered in several feet of snow.

The day before yesterday while working on my MF135 Perkins diesel tractor I heard a flutter and thought a crow had arrived at our compost pile.

After a while, I looked up. There were four ruffed grouse picking at buds. Trees are full of them at this time of the year, arriving just before dark.

The double I'm pledged to, of course, is a real double: grouse rising unexpectedly in a roll of thunder and two successful shots.

I once had a triple going during early days with a clickety-clack. Two grouse down, a third was a straight-away at shoulder height within 15 yards.

I remember it so clearly even now, thinking migod a triple dead to rights, unbelievable. Yeah. Complacency. The miss a great memory.