The Burlingames

The air is crisp, the leaves are falling, and something primal within me has awakened. Deer hunting is rapidly approaching: yesssssssss. I went out to the range the other day to make sure I can still hit something with my rifle. After a bit of scope tweaking and shooting a box of shells, I am once again feeling like a killing machine. I have to say, I love the smell of gun powder in the morning. My hope is that Baby Rupert either comes early or stays put until hunting is over. It’s not just that I don’t want to miss hunting; I don’t want to be flying back to the city on Highway 10, trying to make it before the boy does. We’ll see how it shakes out.