Was in my office yesterday when I heard someone throw a bowling ball against my plate glass window.
Went out to check, and found the largest quail I have seen, dead on my porch. About the size of a small grouse.
No way is a hillbilly from Arkansas going to overlook that sort of "windfall". A little italian breading, some olive oil, and I was set for the main course.
My wife was mortified. My daughter was delighted. My roots are showing.
Good move.
A few years ago I was riding with a friend on the way to a deer hunting spot. We made it a mile before he hit a grouse with his truck. He stopped, backed up, and says, "Hey, the breast is still good." He hopped out, field dressed it, and we went back to the house with it. That grouse was the only thing we brought back from that hunt.
Girlfriends father was driving down the road when a grouse bounced off the windshield of the car ahead of him. He stopped and pulled it out of the ditch where it landed, took it home and cooked it
Not surprisingly, for Christmas that year one of his gifts was a box of "Road Kill Helper"