I love hunting. I also love telling stories. Hunting stories are some of my favorite to hear and tell. Every good hunting story needs to be true, to an extent. I mean, you have to have actually killed something for the story to work, but the rest of the details about the hunt are up for some “artistic license.”

The problem is that there comes in every hunter’s life a situation where something so crazy happens you are reluctant to tell the story later. If you do choose to tell it, your audience has to decide whether you are telling the truth and something super crazy did happen … or that you might just be a liar. 

My first called-in/killed coyote was with a 12-gauge shotgun at 80 yards — yes, 

80 yards. The shot wasn’t ideal but the only opportunity I had at the moment.

I had spent an embarrassing number of years unsuccessfully pursuing coyotes and this was my first one. As I walked off the distance of the shot — three times — I could hardly believe it so I wasn’t expecting anyone else would either.  

It’s as though this elusive creature I had hunted for so long got the last laugh.  I could almost see it mocking me from the Great Beyond. “Ha! Ha! Good luck getting anyone to believe that story!”