So I went on this tour with a bunch of bird watchers the other day. I’m not becoming a bird watcher (at least not in the non-consumptive sense); I just had a chance to get a guided tour of an area I hunt a lot, and I was hoping to learn more about it and maybe even pick up some intelligence I could use this winter.

My doctor and I had been talking for a few minutes when I decided it was time to pop the question.

Sometimes I can’t stop myself from picking fights I seem sure to lose.

So there I was, at water’s edge, ghillie jacket and hood breaking up my outline, balaclava hiding my face, weapon resting on my knees, fog just a bit too thick, ducks just a little bit too far away.

I love getting a limit of ducks.

For my first six seasons as a duck hunter, my hunting was limited by two things: no dog, and no boat.

I am a creature of habit. I spend most of my duck season hunting just a few spots in a very small area of public land, generally with just my boyfriend Hank or my hunting buddy Charlie. It’s not easy to get a spot – the system is a combination of chance, savvy and speed – but we’ve got the routine down. Our hunting has all the ritual and consistency of a Catholic Mass.

When it comes to duck hunting, I’m the functional equivalent of a 7-year-old. This is my seventh season of hunting, and every time I go out, regardless any indications that would temper the optimism of a wiser hunter, each hunt always holds the promise of Christmas. There’s always an excellent chance that the ducks will swarm around the blind like mosquitoes, my shooting will be immaculate, and the day will be one I remember forever.

Duck season approacheth in my neck of the woods, and that means it’s time to remember the three immutable rules of the duck gods:

Last weekend found me at my high school reunion in Visalia, California, seated amongst a bunch of my Class of ’83 brethren who were generally quite happy to find that I’d joined the ranks of gun-totin’, wildlife-killin’ mamas. I was not a fan of guns back in the day, and my family preferred slaughtering animals we’d raised ourselves.