My Trigger Finger Has Taken an Abrupt Turn

As the opening of upland bird season approaches, my trigger finger has taken an abrupt turn to the right.

It doesn’t appear to be political. More likely it’s the result of 70 years of use and abuse.

I hope it still works. The options are few.

A left-handed shooter, I could learn to shoot right-handed except the trigger finger on that hand is a joint short following a run-in years ago with an electric saw.

I could switch fingers. The middle finger on my left hand remains relatively unscathed. I’m afraid, however, that to make it work I’d have to lop off a bit of the crooked index finger, and that’s not going to happen again unless by accident. I still remember how much it hurt when I shortened the right one.

Everything else appears to be working, although haltingly at times. My vision remains good enough that I can tell a hen pheasant from a rooster if it flushes close enough. My knees still bend, but make their presence known more than I’d like, as too, does my back.

I thought I was done with big-game hunting and the physical toll it takes until a good friend drew a coveted bull elk tag in a remote area, and recruited me to help pack out the critter once it hits the ground. I can’t say packing out deer and elk is my favorite thing despite a half-century’s experience doing just that.

It’s one of those things I wish I wasn’t so good at.

At least I should have kept to myself the amount of physical and mental abuse I’m willing to put up with for fresh meat.

The right-leaning finger, I suppose, is simply a harbinger of what’s ahead. I’m of that age when things begin to go south.

I used to joke that I’d lost my trigger finger, not mentioning I was left-handed. This may be a case of karma, here to bite me in the …

In the meantime I’ll carry on as usual, perhaps even hitting a few more right-wing birds than before, as well as missing more left-wingers.

I was never that good a wing shot anyway.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]