There’s a hunter’s moon tonight my mate said why don’t we go out and get some pheasants.

You’re on I said the money would be useful. At midnight we walked out into the gloom like two poaching peasants. For me a chance to make an extra couple of pounds for my mate a bit of extra cash to buy another round. A skeleton four ten that was folding is the weapon we were holdingit was the classic poacher’s gun.

If we were caught we would be so done unregistered and therefore unlawful a custodial sentence for us would be just awful. We plodded of across the field to where we  knew the game were roosting a shot was fired a pheasant dead. Lookout to see if we were seen or heard pick up the bird move on.

Cross the road where no lights were visible. A long stretch of open field before us’ oh shit a car headlights’ that could shine upon us. Face down in the mud heart racing body not moving get up and run with mud caked boots. Another shot a a bird goes down not dead! But making a noise enough to wake them, a grab of its head a twist and pull to stop the noise a pheasant in two parts almost.

The night goes on with fatigue and stress it could go horribly wrong and then what a mess. The route was run now get home without being caught with the gun. Over the garden fence our nights adventure was done.

A nights sleep and ready to sell the fruits of our crime. A game dealer who didn’t ask  any questions some of the time. The rewards were meagre no compensation for our labours.

Its true crime doesn’t pay.