© 2012 Aaron Atkinson

Pumpkin for her Pumpkin

One of my favorite parts of bird hunting is filling the gaping hole of hunger it leaves in my stomach at the end of a long day of walking. On our recent trip to South Dakota, I wasn’t the only one benefiting from refueling the tank. Steaks, burgers, fried chicken, and potatoes mashed, baked and french fried were voraciously devoured by the group.

A trio even opted for dessert. John ordered cherry pie a la mode. Uncle Bill opted for strawberry rhubarb with a glop of ice cream atop. Even Tim, a notorious dessert-avoider ordered a slice of pumpkin pie.

As the waitress returned balancing three pie-filled plates she set the cherry in front of John, and exclaimed “cherry.” And the strawberry rhubarb in front of Bill with a “strawberry rhubarb.” And finally the whip cream topped pumpkin pie in front of Tim with a grin and a “and for you pumpkin.”

“Tim, I think that waitress has a thing for you,” I muttered while enviously eyeing the pies. “You’re her pumpkin.”

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