Recipe for Grilling Pheasant


4 Pheasant boneless breasts


Salt to taste                                                   

Pepper to taste                                    

3 sprinkles Crushed red pepper            

Minced Garlic                                                  

Onion Powder                                                  


Olive oil                                                           

White Wine                                                    



1 can Diced tomatoes

Minced garlic



Onion Powder

Olive Oil

Grated Romano Cheese

Grated Italian cheeses for topping

Place pheasant breasts in baking dish and mix marinade together and pour over breasts.  Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours. 

Grill breasts over medium high heat until done.

Mix together topping ingredients for topping in saucepan and cook until liquid is cooked out. 

After turning breasts over on grill, cover cooked side with tomato topping and finish grilling.  Just before removing from grill, sprinkle Italian cheeses on tomato topping and melt.

Serve with angel hair pasta and wine (I prefer a Pinot Grigio)

How the “Goats” Got Their Name

Life was good – nice and boring.  The dogs were behaving, not getting into things, just laying around the house while we were at work.  I should have known that a storm was on the horizon.  It all started when we helped my son out and dog sat one of his out-of-control dogs while he and his wife went out of town for a few days.  Charlie, our “psycho” dog took an immediate dislike to my son’s dog, Izzy, and would bully her around the house.  As soon as we sent her back, both AJ, our laid back black lab, and Charlie decided to go on a rampage.  I guess they had some pent up frustration with us for bringing a wacko dog into their domain. 

AJ is a “carb monster”.  He loves bread, pasta, chips and most of all coffee cake.  He has stolen countless loaves of bread off the counter,  He pulled the covered glass Pyrex baking dish that housed the freshly baked coffee cake off the back of the counter and dragged it off to enjoy “al fresco” in a more relaxed setting.  Why it didn’t break when it hit the floor, I’ll never know.  Pyrex is some strong stuff.  This prompted us (I mean Mitch) to build a  pantry with doors and move everything that is edible out of harm’s way.  Or so we thought.

AJ figured out how to open the pantry doors.  The double louvered stained doors didn’t fair too well, now they are sporting deep gouges and scratches from determined toe nails.  After he pulled the doors open, he had a veritable smorgasbord in front of him to sample at his leisure.  Do dogs do anything leisurely?

We came home from work one day for lunch and discovered that the dogs had gone grocery shopping, using our well stocked pantry to dine lavishly.  As we walked in the door, AJ met us with a chocolate candy bar hanging out of his mouth.  The dining room looked like a tornado had blown through.  Strewn across the new rug we had just bought was the box that the taco shells had been in and the bag that had held a pound of dry pasta.  Yum.  The two had sampled their way through two loaves of bread, one white, one whole grain, everyone needs fiber.  For dessert they dined on chocolate cake mix, chocolate candy bars and Magic Shell chocolate fudge ice cream topping.  Magic Shell makes a really interesting mosaic all over the brand new rug.  All of those goodies must have made them thirsty, so they dragged a case of diet coke out of the pantry to quench their thirst.  In the kitchen, all of my spices had been knocked off the shelf and were scattered all over the floor. 

After a moment of shear disbelief, I snatched the candy bar from AJ, walked in and attempted to salvage any of my spices and herbs.  I picked up all of the chewed up wrappers and threw them in the trash. 

Mitch looked at me and said, “Well, how about sitting down to a bite of lunch?” 

I said, “I don’t have time now.  I have to get back to work.”

He said, “Well how about taking a sandwich back to work with you?”

“With what, they ate all of the bread!”

Contrary to popular belief, our dogs are not affected by chocolate.

I looked everywhere for child proof latch covers, nothing fit.  We secured the doors with heavy rubber bands.  That seemed to do the trick.  Once again, lulled into that false sense of security, I was positive that we were home free.  Dogs are cured.  Silly me.

One day when Mitch was out of town on business, I came home for lunch to walk off some of the dogs’ pent up energy and get some exercise for me too.  Bonus!  I opened the door and there was AJ and Charlie, munching away on a box of Hershey Bars with Almonds.  They didn’t even take the time to remove the wrappers.  The box was a full 36 count concession style display box that we had just bought last week at our neighborhood warehouse store.  I grabbed the one in AJ’s mouth, Charlie wisely chose to drop his and I managed to salvage two more that hadn’t been dined on yet.  I was in total shock.  I was so angry I could spit.  At that moment, all I could do was put their leashes on and take them for a
walk and try to calm down.

Before I could leave to go back to work, I had to come up with a plan on securing the pantry doors closed.  I had nothing to put the dogs in to keep them out of trouble and I had to go back to work.  I needed something big and heavy enough that couldn’t get knocked over to block the doors.  The only thing I had available on short notice was a padded weight lifting bench.  I dragged it in front of the doors and stood back to survey my handiwork.  I hoped that it would withstand my determined dog.  I wasn’t so sure.  When I got back to work, I entertained a co-worker with my lunch “date” and she said, “You don’t have dogs, you have goats!”

Nothing to Wear

This is an excerpt from another one of the stories from my book, “A Woman’s View of Hunting…With Men”. 

How often have I stood in front of this full closet, wondering why I never seem to have the right clothes?  I take it all back.  This time it’s true. I really don’t think I have a thing to wear.  It’s November, and Mitch and I are going to a little town in western Kansas to hunt pheasant for a week. This is my inaugural hunting trip, I’ve never been hunting before. 

 “Whatever possessed me to want to go hunting?” I think to myself.  We can spend time together when he gets back.  “Stop it!  You want to do this.  It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’re going because you wanted to spend more time with Mitch.”  I berate myself into submission.  “Hunters” don’t make fashion statements, do they?  I’m totally clueless.

But I’m a woman from the suburbs, not much of an “outdoorsy” person. My closet is full of appropriate office attire, clothes to go shopping in, and work-around-the-house rags. But nothing for “hunting.”  And to add more stress to my plight, my first time hunting experience will also include going with Mitch’s brother, father and the family friend’s that always tag along.  So not only is this first time to go and  wander around in unfamiliar terrain, with a bunch of seasoned hunters, but I will look like a newbie.  Oh joy!

More to come – stick around