Wild Game Night

I don't know who's growing up faster, me or Caroline. I don't usually hold babies at the hospital. They're just so little, and having never had a child of my own, I'm terrified of all the things I could do wrong.


Apparently, it's not that difficult. I held her, she slept. Pretty simple. I know how some people feel about baby bows, but I think this one is precious. Not sure what that look on LJ's face is about, maybe wedding planning talk.

"My colors are Blush and Bashful!!!"

"Your colors are Pink and Pink."

On to the next topic. Once every couple of weeks, Ty and I are invited to Lane's house for dinner. I call this "Wild Game Night" because we typically only eat things Lane has killed with his own two hands. Backstrap, squab, quail, duck, dove and last night we tried beer-battered pheasant with fried asparagus and twice-baked potatoes.


Normally, I would be very, very skeptical about eating wild game. I grew up eating duck and deer, but I wasn't sure if I would like much else, and I haven't been willing to try what's been offered. Two examples:

One night, I stopped by my parents house to say hello. Something was simmering on the stove, so I removed the lid to the pot to see what smelled so good. Sitting there in a bubbly stew of gravy was an unidentified meat. "What in God's name is this?," I asked and my dad told me it was squirrel.

"Squirrel? Seriously, where did you get squirrel and why are you eating it?"

My dad and Taylor had shot them on the golf course, skinned them and cooked them for dinner! I couldn't believe it. That seemed pretty close to eating a pet in my book. Needless to say, I passed on dinner that night.

Story two: My friend and outdoor reporter Jimmy Watson put me to the test one night at the office. He was heading out to cover a Wild Game Banquet where men bring in anything they've killed and cooked and everyone eats it up buffet style. Not knowing how bad it could get, I dared him, "Bring me the nastiest thing you can find and I'll eat it."

A few hours later, Jimmy returns to the office with a foil-covered dish and a look on his face that said "I've got you on this one." Anxious to show off my steel stomach, I pulled back the foil to see the vilest thing imaginable — a whole raccoon, head on, with carrots and potatoes. I almost barfed at the sight of it, and this was easily the most memorable bet I've ever lost. I think it would have been more disgusting if my co-workers would have had to watch me eat that thing. It was a win for all.

So, I have a new rule about eating wildlife. With the exception of deer, if I can hit it with my car, I don't eat it. That's a pretty good rule of thumb.

While Lane pushes these boundaries, I always eat what he serves. And I always like it. Nothing tastes especially wild, and last night's pheasant tasted more like flavorful chicken nuggets. However, if he ever serves up stewed squirrel or over-roasted raccoon, I'm out.