The big turkey gobbler had been standing in the same place, motionless, for a long time. He was behind a tree, I couldn't see him very well, and - of course - I was in a twisted-up position.
My discomfort was getting worse every second, and yet I knew I could not move. (Turkey hunters will understand.) My buddy Dave Miller was planted beside me, he wasn't moving either, and the minutes crawled by like eons in a beautiful Missouri creek bottom.
Oh wait, I forgot: When we left off on this story last time, we were in the middle of Dave Miller dealing with a turkey, not me. For those who may be late tuning in on this little adventure, I recently went to Missouri to turkey hunt with Mr.