Rollo the Wunderdog and His Turkey

Rollie sent me some pics of the turkey he got along with his hunting journal entry. Way to go Rollie.

Jason,
Copy of my turkey journal:

Wed. April 26, first morning 3rd season. 32degrees, cloudless, light
wind, no moon, Perfect.

Pete S. and I went listening Tues. We had realized a group of 10
toms we were watching had moved a half mile, but were huntable. Another
spot had a bird that was hit or miss. The third spot, where we shot our
birds last year, had only one tom. We knew this lowd mouthed bird from
last year, but he had been hunted hard for two seasons. We argued all
the way home and made a decision to hunt the hit or mis bird because
there were other set-ups close. By morning I was convinced to hunt the
bird from last year. We knew where he roosted,and I had come up with a
plan.

We went in early, 4:20. We knew right where he roosted, and entered the
woods downfield 150yds. We sat down and waited for a gobble. Ten min.
later he started. He was where we heard him Monday. We moved into the
woods 60 yds. to be even with the tom. I did a very short tree yelp. We
waited as he relentlessly gobbled. Hens started getting out of the trees
around us.
Because I had yelped, they knew I wasn't a hen on the ground close to
them, and they flew away from the tom. Maybe a dozen birds got down.
There were still a few hens with the tom. I was about to call when a
hen called behind me; she and her friend flew away from the tom. He was
getting pissed because the hens wern't coming. He moved deeper into the woods gobbling every few seconds; then he shut up. I knew he was looking. He moved 80 yards
back toward the field silently, then gobbled. I did a short yelp trying
to keep him out of the field and in range to my left. At this point Pete
saw him and pointed with one finger. I got ready, but had no view in
that direction.

Pete was 8ft to my left. The old tom was doing the spit & drum, while
strutting with an ocasionable thunder gobble. I took the safety off and
put my head down on the stock. I saw a dark patch in the only small
opening I had between the oalks. A blue head appeared looking right at
me sillouheted against a huge dark fan. My mind said two things, "10
gauge, heavy shot." I fired. I got up and stumbled forward with the gun
on safe. I knew my time to trip was near. I was yelling to Pete, "Go get
him! Go get him!" Pete knew enough to stay away from a stumbling
disabled man with a 10gauge.
The bird was down. It made one last attempt to escape running and
flapping, but Pete tackled it risking life, nads and limb.

We tagged the tom admiring the sharp spurs and nice thick beard. We
shook hands, thanked God for the nice day and the job he did with the
hens. Pete took the bird back to where I shot. I took 75 steps to get
there. I have never taken a shot that long. It was the only shot I would
have gotten. The next time the tom would have been free of trees, Pete
would have been too close to the shot. Confidence in the gun, the heavy
shot, and patterning gave me the confidence to take the shot.

If this is the last bird I ever shoot, it would be fitting. The
scouting, set up, calling (lack of calling), were all perfect. I would
have been content not killing this bird, only outsmarting him. This bird
took everything I've learned in all my years of turkey hunting.

This is the third bird I've taken since doing my latest cancer
treatment.
Pete S. and Bruce F. have made this possible. Pete and I scout
and hunt together. He is my partner and student of turkey hunting. Pete
helps me carry my Doc H. amount of gear and my 10gauge Otto. Yes, I
call it Otto. He carried the last two birds out. Bruce carried the one
before that. Hunting and fishing keep me going, and keep my mind on the
prize. Hunting and fishing with friends and family. This is the best
quality time. My friends in the Nursing Fawns are my best friends. I
know if I die on the stream, or in the woods; they will think long and
hard before gutting me before they drag me out.
Rollie