Back in the days when we first formed the Nebraska Hawking Club—that was like in ’74, maybe ’75—Jay Carlson had a lugger. I think, if I can remember the story right, one of the Ohlanders bought it thinking it was a peregrine. Now, I can’t swear to that story, because if Ben and Kurt ever hear about this, they’ll kill me... And if it wasn’t them, they’re absolutely right. But somebody bought it thinking that it was a peregrine, and it was similar to a peregrine. It’s more like a prairie, probably—streamlined, long-winged, feather-light kind of bird.

Well, this was really early in Jay’s career, and he had flown a redtail once before, and then he got this lugger. And I think he really tried, but back then...we didn’t know shit.

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Jay’s aunt and uncle had this farm out on Highway 34 on the way from Lincoln to Malcolm, and Jay kept pigeons out there. And this lugger would absolutely smoke a pigeon. But if you’d take it hunting, it would keep waiting for pigeons, so that’s what he did with it, for the couple of years he had it, anyway.

So at his aunt’s farm, off the main house, between the house and the garage, they had built a walkway, all enclosed, kind of a mud room. And the mud room was open one day, and this pigeon flew right in there, and the lugger went right in there. And we’re like a quarter-mile away, up on top of this hill, watching this perfect flight disappear into a hole at 180 miles an hour or whatever...probably more like 50. By the time we got down there, the mud room had blood all over it. It was a mess. I don’t know if she bit the pigeon, or if she just ripped it apart, I don’t remember, but oh, man... Jay just said, "Let’s get out of here."