Trapped
Sunday was one of those picture-perfect days here in the Ozarks, for February anyway.
It was sunny and warm, between 55–60 degrees by afternoon.
Dale and I took the dogs out on the deck and we all soaked up the sun for awhile and then he decided to head down the hill to bank fish.
He came home later with a report, “No luck fishing, but there was a reason I was supposed to be down there.”
We had been hearing boats all weekend, not unusual on a nice weekend and certainly not unusual this time of the year as the spring fishing tournaments on the big lakes begin.
Dale said when he got down to our cove, Sade Sue, our pittie who warned me of the strange truck in our driveway a few weeks back, started acting sheepish and walking slowly by Dale’s side, a sure sign something’s amiss.
Then he saw an empty boat on the bank. He was curious, it isn’t unusual for hunters to come on the shore during rifle season, but that season is over.
