So I wake, hypothetically speaking, to find I’ve passed from this life, for any number of reasons. Due to a clerical error on Saint Peter’s part, I don’t go to Hell but rather find myself on the edge of what appears to be the finest teal marsh in the universe. It’s opening day, mid September, on a public wetland, and I’m alone.
To my right is a new over/under. Next to that, a blind bag filled with everything I’m going to need for the morning, including white powder doughnuts, sunflower seeds, and a Thermos of hot coffee. Black, no sugar. To my left sits my old girl dog, Jet, just 3 years old, and ready to go. The weather’s perfect. From the northwest I hear a roar like a thousand…