|Mallards, millet, and cottonmouths|
I found a deer trail and started following it toward my favorite duck holes. The 95-degree heat was starting to wear on me, no thanks to the extra 50 pounds I had on my shoulder. Frogs and spiders were scuttling everywhere, and I wondered why I hadn’t decided to wear my snake-proof boots. This question was emphasized in my mind when I stopped to rest for a second, and as I was about to put down the bag, a cottonmouth slithered over my foot.
I got closer to my chosen holes and saw another 150 yards of chest-deep weeds. I had to draw the line somewhere, and this was where it would be drawn. I ripped open the bag and started spreading the seed around a small hole that I had never even hunted. With the horse flies biting my ears, the sweat burning my eyes, and the sack of seed seeming to get heavier and heavier, I was ready to get the ordeal over with.
50 pounds lighter, I made it back to my truck and jumped into the cab, cranking up the AC. The sweet dreams of mallards had turned into nightmares of snakes, spiders, and poison ivy, and all I could think was that it was a long, long time until November.