Sting in the Tail (Three Oaks Book 6) by Gerald Hammond

Author:Gerald Hammond [Hammond, Gerald]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Over the phone, several of my farming contacts in Fife had assured me that their stubbles were ‘blue with pigeon’, but this assurance must always be taken with a whole barrowload of salt because the sight of a woodpigeon equates in a farmer’s mind with whole swarms of locusts. Also, fields that may have held even a thousand pigeon one day may be picked clean and deserted the next.

I had appointed a rendezvous in mid-morning. The woodpigeon usually wakes at dawn and goes to feed, returning to some convenient roost to rest and digest its meal. This is the pigeon equivalent of breakfast in bed. So, unless one intends to rise before dawn and set out a decoy pattern on uncertain ground, there is little to be gained by starting early.

I used the time to make a quick tour, which told me that, out of all the fields that had been ‘blue with pigeon’, only one large pea stubble was continuing to draw the birds. From the standpoints of both sport and safety, this would be inadequate for the whole party which, when I arrived at the appointed pub car park, proved to comprise seven gentlemen and a lady, all of a certain age and showing signs of wear and tear after their ventures below the high-tide line with Angus. I set off again and they followed on in a Range Rover and an Isuzu Trooper.

En route between the one hopeful field and the rendezvous, I had spotted another large flock feeding on a rape stubble. I established one foursome in hides at the first location with a good supply of cartridges and a broad spread of decoys bobbing convincingly in a light breeze. Before we were out of earshot we could hear battle commence. Fingers crossed, I brought the others to where I had seen the big flock and, on the promise of a few pheasants and some help whenever rabbits or pigeon or foxes plagued him, the farmer made them cautiously welcome. A deep ditch formed ready-made hides for them.

One more quick trip to and fro satisfied me that the pigeon had not immediately removed themselves over the horizons and the customers were getting value for their money. I was free until mid-afternoon, when I would return with a young dog or two and help them to gather their bag, including those birds which managed to fly to some distant tree before falling to the ground, dead. Hunting out those distant fallers always impressed the customers and often resulted in the sale of a dog.

But before driving home and plunging into the work of the kennels, I decided on one more errand. I had passed a butcher’s van or travelling shop belonging to Nairn and Sons, the firm that visited Foleyhill. This one would probably be the van which had called at Three Oaks the day before. I followed it up and found it parked in one of the smaller villages.

I joined a short queue of ladies and even allowed a late-coming housewife to go ahead of me.

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