Brian is planning an elk hunt for late September. This, naturally, means that preparations began in January and that packing has pretty much commenced.
The latest elk hunting accessory arrived on Saturday in the form of an innocent USPS package resting against our front door. In the box was a strange new tool: the elk call. With it was a DVD explaining its use and the various sounds that could be made with it. Unfortunately, all of these sounds are simply variations on loud and raucous screeching.
And with nary a warning, the lessons began this past weekend.
To wit:
DVD: "To imitate a cow elk, simply screeeeeeeeech! screeeeeeeech! screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!"
Brian, upstairs in front of the TV: "SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!"
Meanwhile, Bo, whose hearing I imagine is infinitely more acute and perceptive, barks madly at this awful new sound.
DVD, continuing: "To imitate a calf, simply scree-ee-ee-ch! scree-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ch!"
Brian attempts this also, during which Bo bites the arm of the couch in his agony, much like a woman in labor or a man whose leg is being amputated.
DVD: "A bull elk call consists of much louder and longer intervals.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!
SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!"
And my husband, the dutiful student, begins mastering this, also.
Dear Lord. "Brian!" I call from the couch. "For crying out loud, can't you do that outside?"
"Just a few more minutes," he says eagerly. "I think I'm getting the hang of it. I'm going to watch it one more time."
It's Monday evening, and thankfully, the DVD has done its work. Brian no longer needs to practice up in the loft in front of the TV. Now, he imitates the elk family in our basement. So tonight, Bo and I sit peacefully in the family room, listening to the call echo throughout the house, sounding much like a singing pod of whales on an Arctic migration.
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