A lot of blood, sweat and tears go into having a "successful" hunting season. From awakening before sun-up for ducks to blazing snow drift trails in search of roosters, if you're a hunter, you know how much work it takes to claim a relatively small piece of meat.

Leaving for the weekend might ruffle the lady's feathers from time to time. There's always more work to do on Mondayswhen you disappear on Fridays. I don't hesitate to spend $60 on gas and $20 on ammunition, and I still think I'm getting a better deal than those who spend $40 on a plate of "wild game" served over a white tablecloth.

So I'm sure you can understand the depression that set in this Sunday when I returned from a weekend getaway to discover a puddle of pinkish water pooled underneath my freezer.

What was once a cold freezer full of pheasants somehow morphed into a warm container of rotting roosters.

Good bye BBQ'd pheasant poppers, adios wild game dinners, sayonara pheasant pot-pie.

As hunters, we have a unique connection with the land we traverse and the game we pursue. In our language, the phrase "wanton waste" holds a far worse place than any four letter word. We're continually standing up and defending our passion of the pursuit as being true and dear to our existence. For these very reasons, every bird we're lucky enough to slide into our game bag is more than just some meat covered in feathers.

"Every bird we're lucky enough to slide into our game bag is more than just some meat covered in feathers."

What a waste.

Do vegetarians get this upset over a wilting head of lettuce? I doubt it.

The Over/Under blog is written by Andrew Vavra, Pheasants Forever's Marketing Specialist.