By Kasey Hamric 2 nd Block Coach Hutchins

1. Hunting By Kasey Hamric 2nd Block Coach Hutchins

2. Chapter 1Haikus(10 Poems)

3. Simile Shooting a gun Is like an adrenaline rush That never gets trite.

4. Metaphor Deer are small soldiers Trying to stay latent from Hunters in their stands.

5. Hyperbole The spasmodic gun Shot was louder than a bomb In the silent woods.

6. Personification The deer was irate When he was shot at by a Hunter in the woods.

7. Onomatopoeia As the wind dwindles I can hear the loud “clank” clank” Of bucks in battle.

8. Alliteration Terminating two Little lions lives the big Bear is done hunting.

9. Personification I sit in my stand Being circumspect watching A duck sing his song.

10. Hyperbole Hunting in the woods I saw a venomous snake That almost ate me.

11. Open I sit as lofty As the sky and watch a deer Very anxiously.

12. Open Hunting is a sport That is opinionated Among some people.

13. Chapter 2 Limerick

14. Limerick There once was a guy named Joe Who wanted to shoot his new bow He saw a buck But his arm got stuck And he shot himself in the toe

15. Chapter 3 Acrostic

16. Acrostic Keeping All others Scared Every Young animal fears Lions who are Intelligent and Great Hunters

17. Chapter 4 Extended Metaphor

18. Extended Metaphor Deer are soldiers Surviving a constant war Working hard to stay alive Showing what life is for They live under cover Worried about being killed Even for their own survival They have to be very skilled Staying under cover Ducking shots from left to right It is hard living hunted Both day and night Even when they eat Or run to help a friend One small mistake could Bring their life to an end It is sad for them to live a life Seeing ones that they love die But life is the survival of the fittest For animals that walk or animals that fly

19. Chapter 5 Ballad

20. Ballad Vice President Dick Cheney Went out to hunt quail But an accident did happen That he doesn’t like to tell He was on the Armstrong Ranch In South Texas that day Drinking a beer And shooting away His friend Whittington Who is an attorney Went out with Cheney On his quail hunting journey They had a great time Until Cheney fired his shotgun Whittington was in the way And had no time to run It was partially his fault For not announcing his arrival When Cheney shot at a quail It was a struggle for survival 42 miles north Whittington was driven away The small hospital wasn’t enough So he flew elsewhere to stay Whittington’s life was saved And the gunshot wounds were healed It is lucky for Cheney That the 79 year old wasn’t killed.

21. Article The delicate and the dangerous meet in the ranch lands of South Texas. In the winter, quail gather in the soft gold of prairie sedge, but snakes, scorpions and wild-boar-like javelina lurk too. In 1999 a fourth-generation South Texas rancher named Tobin Armstrong testified before Congress that he sometimes found illegal immigrants dead of dehydration in the unforgiving brush of his 49,300-acre ranch. It was there that Vice President Dick Cheney, out with a hunting party that included Tobin's daughter Katharine, accidentally sprayed attorney Harry Whittington with birdshot. What took place in the hours before and after the Feb. 11 shooting is a largely mundane tale that became extraordinary when, for days, Cheney seemed unwilling to tell it. The Internet is still excreting rumors. So, what did happen? Gentility and blood sport are old friends, but the mix of the wealthy and the rustic at Armstrong Ranch that weekend was exceptional. Tobin's grandfather started the ranch on family land in 1882, after he won a $4,000 bounty for capturing outlaw John Wesley Hardin. The Vice President was hunting with not only his friend Whittington, who has advised Texas Governors and plays a monthly card game with the likes of a retired state supreme court justice, but also Pamela Pitzer Willeford, the ambassador to Switzerland. Tobin died in October, so his wife Anne Legendre Armstrong, a former ambassador to Britain and a longtime Cheney friend, played host. For all that, Armstrong Ranch is countrified rather than ostentatious. At the entrance is a utilitarian "bumper" gate, so named because you nudge it open with your vehicle. Guests usually stay in wooden ranch dwellings near the main house, which are furnished with antiques but few frills. Katharine Armstrong initially told a Texas reporter that there had been "zero, zippo" drinking that Saturday. But Cheney later said on Fox News that he had had "a beer" at lunch. The meal had been served under an old oak, and the hunt -- which had begun that morning -- didn't resume until midafternoon. In addition to the grandees with their guns -- Cheney's an elegant, Italian-made 28-gauge shotgun, Whittington's a 20-gauge -- the party included several guides and dogs. Because of the breadth of the terrain, they got around in old jeeps and other vehicles. According to the local sheriff's report, it was about 5:30 p.m., as the sun was giving way to the gloaming, when the dogs located a covey of quail. Moments later, a guide named Oscar Medellin found another covey. When the dogs flushed the first covey, Whittington fired a lucky shot that hit two birds. As he went to find thedowned birds, the report says, Cheney and Willeford moved toward Medellin's covey. After searching for his birds for a bit, Whittington returned to the vehicle where Katharine Armstrong was. She "told him to go and shoot the second covey," the report says. Whittington walked toward Cheney and Willeford but, as Armstrong later told reporters, didn't announce his presence. "Your first responsibility is to let the other guy know where you are," says Texas A&M professor Dale Rollins, a quail-hunting expert. But Cheney too had a responsibility to know where Whittington was. "It's critical, especially with more than two hunters, to stay in a straight line," says Rollins. Cheney turned toward the setting sun to fire at a bird from the covey Medellin had discovered -- and that was the shot that felled Whittington. The ambulance that always accompanies Cheney took his friend to a small hospital 42 miles north, and he was then flown to a big Corpus Christi medical center.

22. According to Cheney, Katharine Armstrong suggested -- and he agreed -- that she be the one to make the incident public. Cheney was traveling without a press aide, and anyway, the thinking was, she had witnessed the shooting. Armstrong is also a well-connected GOP lobbyist, and she doubtless wanted to help shape the story. It was decided that she would approach Jaime Powell, a reporter she knew at the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. But why wait until the next morning to call? Cheney later said his first concern was ensuring that Whittington's children were notified about the accident and getting accurate information about his condition. Cheney was in for a fitful evening; he was "just crushed," another guest told the New York Times. The paper says the hunting party somberly ate roast beef for dinner and got periodic reports from two guests who had gone to the hospitals along with Whittington's wife Mercedes. The Secret Service notified local authorities, and a traveling aide to the Vice President gave a heads-up to the White House Situation Room. Bush adviser Karl Rove called Armstrong between 8 p.m. and 9 p.m. to ask about Whittington -- who, like Armstrong, is a friend of Rove's -- and learned of Cheney's role in the accident. At about 8 a.m. Sunday, a Cheney aide called strategist Mary Matalin, who regularly advises the Vice President. The aide read her a statement about the accident that Cheney had considered releasing before he decided to encourage Armstrong to go to the Caller-Times. But the statement "didn't say much of anything," Matalin says -- not even that Cheney was the shooter. Matalin then spoke with a second aide and with Cheney's family and heard different versions of what had happened in the shooting. She decided no statement should be released amid the confusion. Matalin spoke with Cheney, and, she says, they agreed that "a fuller accounting, with an eyewitness," would be preferable. So Armstrong finally phoned the paper, which posted the story on caller.com at 1:48 p.m., 20 hours after the shooting. It could have taken five minutes to get the story out. A communications official can tell a White House operator from anywhere on the planet, "I need to make a wire call," and within minutes, the operator will call back with wire reporters on the line, ready to flash the news around the world. Wildlife officials say the most common cause of hunting accidents is a shooter's swinging on game outside the safe zone of fire, as Cheney did. But as generic as the incident was, there are some unanswered questions about that day. For instance, why hasn't the Secret Service released its report? And why hasn't the local sheriff released the text of the depositions his office conducted? There is also a small and geeky but persistent debate over whether Cheney might have been closer to Whittington than 30 yds., the figure in the sheriff's report. Some gun experts say from that distance, it would be unlikely that birdshot could penetrate Whittington's clothes and chest wall. Others agree with Jon Nordby, an analyst with Final Analysis Forensic of University Place, Wash., who says, "It is certainly possible, and I've seen it. I had a case where a BB went through a jacket at 90 ft. and through the pericardial sac and caused death." Fortunately, that wasn't the result of this mishap. Three days after the shooting, Whittington, who turns 79 next month, experienced a minor heart attack caused by a piece of birdshot that lodged in or near his heart. But by Friday he was well enough to leave the hospital. A lifelong Republican who is also respected by Democrats for helping reform Texas' prison system, Whittington needled reporters as he left. "This past weekend encompassed all of us in a cloud of misfortune and sadness that is not easy to explain, especially to those who are not familiar with the great sport of quail hunting," he said. Whittington was dressed immaculately, as usual, but had bruises and pellet wounds where he had been shot. "Accidents," he said, "do and will happen."

23. Chapter 6 Original Poems (Two)

24. One cold winter morning I got in the boat After wading up the river I put on my coat I sat in my stand Waiting for daylight When I heard the first “bang” I knew the time was right Two woodies whistled And I got my gun ready When they flew over head I just held my gun steady They would circle again Like arms on a clock I did my duck call And here came the small flock Two by two The wood ducks flew in I had to take them now They wouldn’t circle again I put down the call And picked my gun up fast Down went the brace of ducks With a big “splash” “splash”. Free Style • Line 7& 24, 3 types of Onomatopoeia • Lines 2 and 4 in each stanza rhyme • Line 9 alliteration • Line 13 and14 simile

25. Alliteration The wind whistles wildly Through the tree stand Stinging the side of my face And burning both my hands The air is so frigid Freezing me with wind It is especially so cold Sitting still on the river bend On and on I wait Watching every tree Thinking that a big buck Would come in front of me Gradually and gracefully Two dainty does danced about One was wandering off And the other followed her out All at once both babies Dashed out of sight Two big bucks were after them Giving them a fright Waiting wasn’t an option Both bucks bounced toward the two does I picked up my gun And opened the window that was closed I sighted in my scope Through the two trees And shot my first 8-point My dad was so proud of me

26. Chapter 7 Poems and Songs By Other Authors

27. You saddle-bound Hunters Are you saddle-bound hunters just waiting untilThe last flash of scarlet has gone from the hill?When the last horn has sounded, the last hound has cried,Will you wait till the echo has finally died? Standing all in a line will you shooters just waitFor the end of your sport in a Commons debate?Will you wait till the moors and the coverts are bare,Until only the magpies and crows take the air? Can it be that you fishermen don't give a jot?If your fishing's allowed to continue or not?Will you wait till its prison or maybe a fine,When you're seen catching tiddlers or casting a line? If you run with the beagles or fishing's your fun,If you course with a whippet or shoot with a gunIf you hunt from a car, on your feet, or are mounted,For God's sake, don't sit there - STAND UP AND BE COUNTED! -Christopher Curtis Poem

28. ‘YONDER HE GOES!' ALWAYS our fathers were hunters, lords of the pitiless spear, Chasing in English woodlands the wild white ox and the deer, Feeling the edge of their knife-blades, trying the pull of their bows, At a sudden foot in the forest thrilling to ' Yonder he goes! ' Safe for the space of a summer the cubs may tumble and play, Boldly from April to August the dog-fox chooses his way; But soon as the beech leaf reddens, soon as the chill wind blows, He must steal, cat-foot, listening, ready for' Yonder he goes! ' The sound of a horn in the bracken, the sound of a cheer in the ride; Fourteen couple running for blood as though to the I brush of him tied! Fourteen couple screaming for blood, and every hound of them knows This is his right from the ages - the heart-stirring ‘Yonder he goes!' Not for the lust of killing, not for the places of pride, Not for the hate of the hunted we English saddle and ride, But because in the gift of our fathers the blood in our veins that flows Must answer for ever and ever the challenge of ‘Yonder he goes!’ -WH Ogilvie Poem

29. Poem Little Foxes By Phil Stevenson I dreamed, and lo! In this my dream the cranks had had their way,Fox-hunting was forbid by law for ever and a day;No more across the English grass might English sportsmen ride,No more the scarlet coats be seen at winter covert-side. But what of “Master Reynard” whom this law was passed to saveFrom the death that so befits him as a brigand wild and brave?Alas! I saw quite clearly what must now become his fateWith none to stand between him and the chicken farmers hate. The shot at dusk, the shot at dawn, the snatched uncertain aim,The wounds that only slowly kill, the wounds that only maim,The bitter gripe of poison and the burning rending pain,The broken teeth and bleeding jaws that bite the trap in vain. The roly cubs in summer dawns that scrapped and played amainAre dying now by inches, for their dam comes not again;She is lying at a dyke back with a gin upon her pad,A broken bleeding sacrifice to sentiment run mad. I woke and new it but a dream; for yet old Reynard ranAs he did before the wolf-pack ‘ere ever there was man;I woke, and breathed a little prayer for fear of what impends;‘God pity Britain’s foxes and save them from their friends’.

30. Poem

31. Poem

32. We'll all go a-hunting today What a fine hunting day, it's as balmy as May,When the hounds to our village did come.Every friend will be there, and all troubles and careWill be left far behind them at home.See servants and steeds on their wayAnd sportsmen in scarlet display.Let us join the glad throng that goes laughing alongAnd we'll all go a-hunting today  [Chorus] So we'll all go a-hunting todayAll nature looks smiling and gayLet us join the glad throngThat goes laughing alongAnd we'll all go a-hunting today Farmer Hodge to his dame says, I'm sixty and lameTimes are hard and my rent I must pay;But I don't give a jot if I raise it or notFor I must go a-hunting todayThere's a fox in the spinney they sayWe'll find him and have him away;I'll be first in the rush, I shall ride for his brush,For I must go a-hunting today.As the judge sits in court, he gets wind of the sportAnd he calls the whole court to adjournAs no witness had come and there's none left at home--They have gone with the hounds and the horn.He says, Heavy fines you must payIf you will not your summons obey.It is very fine sport, so we'll wind up the courtAnd we'll all go a-hunting today. And the village bells chime, there's a wedding at nineWhen the parson unites the fond pair.When he heard the sweet sound of the horn and the houndAnd he knew it was time to be there.He says, For your welfare I pray,I regret I can no longer stay;You've been safely made one, we must quickly be goneFor we must go a-hunting today.None were left in the lurch, for all friends were at churchWith the beadle and clerk and aye all,All determined to go and to shout tally-ho,And the ringers all joined in the rear.With the bride and bridegroom in arrayThey one to the other did say,Let us join the glad throng that goes laughing alongAnd we'll all go a-hunting today. There's the doctor in boots to a breakfast that suitsOf home-brewed ale and good beefTo his patients he says, I've come once againTo consult you in hopes of relief.To the poor, his advice he gave 'way;To the rich, he prescribed 'em to pay.But to each one he said, You will quickly be deadIf you don't go a-hunting today.And there's only one cure for a malady, sureWhich reaches the heart to adjureIt's the sound of the horn on a fine hunting mornAnd where is the heart wishing more?For it turneth the grave into gayMakes pain into pleasure give wayMakes the old become young and the weak become strong If they'll all go a-hunting today. Song -W. Wilson

33. Song The Hunting Song By Tom Lehrer I always will remember,'Twas a year ago November,I went out to hunt some deerOn a mornin' bright and clear.I went and shot the maximum the game laws would allow,Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.I was in no mood to trifle,I took down my trusty rifleAnd went out to stalk my prey.What a haul I made that day.I tied them to my fender, and I drove them home somehow,Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.The law was very firm, itTook away my permit,The worst punishment I ever endured.It turned out there was a reason,Cows were out of season,And one of the hunters wasn't insured.People ask me how I do it,And I say, "There's nothin' to it,You just stand there lookin' cute,And when something moves, you shoot!"And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred Guernsey cow.

34. song

35. The hunt is better than the kill, realClose your eyes and try to feel, the stealCold metal to your grill, kneelWish it was a sleeping pill, peelHis wig and watch watch his blood spill, deadThe hunt is better than the kill, they saidThe hunt is better than the kill, they saidThe hunt is better than the kill,The hunt us the thrill and the kill is just the reward for the chaseYou never get to see his face, you raceYou get away but you leave a trace, a clueThe fox is smarter than the hound, trueThat’s exactly why they hunt him down, caughtYou hear his little heart pound, fearMurder on the battle ground, deadThe head hunter takes the headYeah he was meant to die before he fled, ha ha haA good hunter don’t hunt for the killA good hunter hunts for the huntNow that’s a perfect hit right thereThat’s a perfect shotThat’s a clean kill right to the heart, see thatThe runner running from the gunnerThe gunner’s gonna, wannaKill him when he see emDone away withAlmost captured one of these days I will master the get awayGot away clean I meanThere’s not a way outI mean, no means, no hide aways, no routesWhat’s this about the huntWhat’s this about the hunterWhat’s this about the huntedNow some will hunt to stay alive, and surviveOthers hunt to kill a tribe, and divideYou can be on either side, of courseExtinction in the hunters eye, no remorse -Aceyalone Song

36. Hunting Song Song WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,On the mountain dawns the day All the jolly chase is here,With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they: – "Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken lords and ladies gay,The mist has left the mountain gray,Springlets in the dawn are steaming,Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;And foresters have busy been,To track the buck in thickets green;Now we come to chant our lay: – "Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay,To the green-wood haste away;We can show you where he lies,Fleet of foot, and tall of size;We can show the marks he made, When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd: You shall see him brought to bay: – "Waken, lords and ladies gay." Louder, louder, chant the lay,Waken, lords and ladies gay!Tell them youth, and mirth and glee,Run a course as well as we;Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk:Think of this, and rise with day,Gentle lords and ladies gay.                             – SIR WALTER SCOTT