Jan. 27th, 2011

Piano Hunt

Jan. 27th, 2011 10:44 pm
I woke my daughter up a little after four in the morning. It was very dark outside and we were both sleepy. I made scrambled eggs and toast, and that perked her up a little. I poured a little bit of my coffee in her milk so she could taste what it’s like, and that perked her up a little too. By a quarter to five she was ready to roll. I was still sleepy. I remember being a kid.

I had her dress in layers: leggings under her jeans; a teeshirt under a flannel shirt under a sweater. She protested when I handed her the camo jacket we’d picked up at Academy. “Dad!” she protested, “I’m going to melt!” I led her to the back door and opened it; it was bitterly cold outside. “Oh,” she said, and she put the jacket on, and the Kamik boots I had bought her along with the jacket.

I had packed the truck the night before. We had our rifles and ammunition, some sandwiches and corn chips and segmented oranges in a cooler, bottles of water, blankets (I had warmed them in the dryer while we were eating breakfast), her book, my tools, gloves and caps, a tarp to sit on. We hopped right in the truck and got on down the road at 5 sharp.

She read her book by the cockpit light while I drove. It was still pitch dark and the roads were empty. The hunting lease was about a half hour out of town. Before we got there she got tired of her reading, stretched her arms in all directions, and gave a tremendous yawn.

“Dad,” she asked, “why did we have to get up so early in the morning?”

I smiled. “You have to get up very early if you want to bag a piano,” I said.

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