I’m a dirty liar, but in my defense I do it just cos.

Planning a fall of finned and feathered pursuits while riding the coat tails of a brave entrepreneur requires a crystal ball, and I leave that bullshit for jerk-nosed asses.

My outings have been, for the most part, fruitless. Dove have been flying just before dusk, not worth giving every other bird to the coyotes. Plus, Milford is wet, wet, wet; no point in watering at our tanks when they can safely slack their thirst in the ditches along I-35.

I haven’t been up to the drive to Denison. If you can believe it, Dallas is even more terrible at 4 a.m., and with all the salty, stripped slab clogging the internets, I don’t feel like I have much to contribute.

The PK tailrace hasn’t been that productive and I’ve used up my snake scare quota for the year. I’ll save my gas for some god honest cast n’ blast in November.

I will probably be able to sneak away to country club water for the next couple of mondays. The fireant and I made it out last week, and pulled up a hand full of fire bellied gills, but we’re too pro to stop for photo ops. Sorta.