Tag Archives: hunting

Car Hunting

copyright Joe Owens

copyright Joe Owens

My dad loved to show people around his trophy room, so when my college roommate came over for Thanksgiving, of course Dad gave him the tour.

“You’ve done a lot of hunting!” Kiefer said. I rolled my eyes. Don’t encourage him.

“Yep, I sure have,” my dad said, making a sweeping gesture to encompass all the license plates on the walls. “This here was from my first one. It was a ’68 Chevy Chevelle. I got it going down Route 46, not far from here. Single shot—bam!—right to the engine block. Damaged the body a bit but stopped it dead.”

“So you mostly go for sedans then?”

I tried giving Kiefer a warning look. My dad was going to talk for hours at this rate.

“I have tried all kinds.” Dad was beaming now. “When Bobby was little, we’d go out for hatchbacks. We tagged two in one day over in Breathitt County. We could only bring the fenders home, although of course Bobby liked to keep the spark plugs as souvenirs.” I blushed.

“Do you think I could give it a try?” Kiefer asked. My dad’s face lit up.

“Why sure! We’ll go grab you and Bobby some licenses and head out tomorrow. You haven’t tried car hunting until you’ve done it on Black Friday. You can use my SUV rifle.”

“Aren’t you a member of Greenpeace?” I whispered to Kiefer.

“This isn’t nature,” he said. “This is cars!” He and my dad high-fived and I knew that I’d lost him.

First Night, First Kill

The tiger had left its mother that morning. He had felt the time coming for a few days, that antsy excitement thrilling through his lithe form that something was about to change. Then, that morning, she had walked out into the jungle, followed by his two sisters, and for the first time ever, he did not follow. He was alone and free.

'Machali' Queen of Ranthambhore with her 3 cubs on 9 June 2007

For a while, he had played, gamboling around and splashing in the small river nearby. But then, he realized he was hungry and there was no one to provide him food. The realization filled him with a flood of unanalyzed emotions, mostly positive. He knew of a cache of food nearby that his mother had left, but the concept of Ours was fading and now he realized that it was Hers. A new concept, that of Mine, was beginning to form in his mine and he set out randomly to explore it.

He walked far until the scent of his mother faded. He avoided the scent of other tigers as well, especially males. The sun reached its peak and was starting to descend when he stopped to drink from a small stream. Then he caught the scent of wild pig. It excited him so much that he whipped around, catching at his own tail before remembering the business at hand and climbing a tree to wait.

He had watched his mother do this many times. He had killed before, but always under her watchful eye. Now, he crept along the branch just over the stream, watching and smelling the air. The pig appeared a few minutes later, rooting around in the soft dirt. The tiger watched it, waiting for the perfect time to strike. The pig approached and the tiger’s muscles tensed. Then, he sprang.

There was a loud crack and the branch he had been sitting on broke off and fell into the stream, the tiger following it. He landed on his feet and was bounding towards the pig as soon as he landed but the pig was already gone, squealing and crashing through the underbrush, back the way it had come.

The tiger pursued it, glorying in his young, strong body. The pig was dodging this way and that, but the tiger was gaining on it. The pig’s bobbing tail appeared through the foliage in front.

Suddenly there was a roar and a tawny flash and the pig disappeared, knocked to one side. The tiger saw a huge male tiger sinking its fangs into the pig’s neck, silencing its terrified squeals. Then it dropped the pig and turned back, roaring a challenge. The younger tiger retreated back to the stream.

He was angry and hungry both, but he knew better than to challenge the larger male. He prowled back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

There was a sudden boom, like thunder, although the sky peeking through the canopy was blue and cloudless. He climbed a tree and crept towards where the sound had come from, back towards the other tiger. It lay dead, with blood coming from its neck. Two other creatures, tall thin ones that looked like large monkeys, stood over it with sticks in their hands.

They did not look dangerous. The other tiger was dead and the pig was lying on the ground, his for the taking. He waited until one of the creatures had disappeared into the trees, and then he leaped.

The creature turned and cried out in fear. It raised its stick but not in time. The tiger knocked it to the ground and bit its neck. He could feel the warm blood flow over his teeth and the life go out of it. He was tempted to take this prey or the pig and run, but he was young and the taste of blood was fresh in his mouth. He stalked through the trees until he saw the other creature come running, stick raised. Then he pounced.

The sun went down, burning the tips of the leaves a fiery orange. The tiger sat gorging himself. His thoughts flicked to his mother and sisters, but he did not miss them. He was his own tiger now.

Tiger climbing tree, Bandhavgarh

Visual Fiction – Tower Camp

Tad looked up the moon burning like white phosphorus above him. It was growing, fattening, and three days from now it would be full. He lay down and listened to the soft hum of electricity running above him. Already he could feel that wildness that grew inside of him every month, the atavistic ferocity that led him to desert his comfortable town life and move his dwelling to this rude camp under the tower. His neighbors had laughed at him anyway and called him crazy.

He didn’t care though. Three more days and he could hunt werewolves.

taken in Jeonju, South Korea

taken in Jeonju, South Korea

H J Musk

Taking on the world one story at a time ...

CG Express

Writing, Musing, Sharing

Bridgette Tales

Everybody has a story. Here's a little of mine.

Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha

Musings and books from a grunty overthinker

Rolling Boxcars

Where Gaming Comes at you like a Freight Train

Lady Jabberwocky

Write with Heart

Fatima Fakier

| Self-actualisation | Achieve your potential

The Pinay Ajumma

just sharing

The Green-Walled Treehouse

Explore . Imagine . Create

One Minute Office Magic

Learning new Microsoft Office tricks in "just a minute"


Just grin and bear it awhile

Linda's Bible Study

Come study God's Word with me!

Haden Clark

Better conversations toward a better tomorrow.

Citizen Tom

Welcome to Conservative commentary and Christian prayers from Mount Vernon, Ohio.

The Green-Walled Chapel

Writings on Faith, Religion and Philosophy

To Be A Magician

A fiction blog of funny and dark stories

My music canvas

you + me + music

Eve In Korea

My Adventures As An ESL Teacher In South Korea

Luna's Writing Journal

A Place for my Fiction

Upper Iowa University

Center for International Education

Here's To Being Human

Living life as a human


Book Reviewer and Blogger


kitten loves the world

Strolling South America

10 countries, 675 days, 38,540km

It's All in Finding the Right Words

The Eternal Search to Find One's Self: Flash Fiction and Beyond

Reflections Of Life's Journey

Lessons, Joys, Blessings, Friendships, Heartaches, Hardships , Special Moments

A Writer's Path

Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.

Chris Green Stories

The Best Short Stories on the Internet

Finding Myself Through Writing

Writing Habits of Elle Knowles - Author


Inspiring mental health through creative arts and friendly interactions. (Award free blog)


Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!

Unmapped Country within Us

Emily Livingstone, Author

Silkpurseproductions's Blog

The art of making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

BJ Writes

My online repository for works in progress


she is confidence in shadows.

Musings on Life & Experience

Poetry, Fiction, & Non-Fiction Writings

Outside The Lines

Fun readings about Color, Art and Segmation!


a Photo Blog, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to dear dirty New York

Björn Rudbergs writings

Poetry and fiction by a physicist from the dark side

%d bloggers like this: