My friend Robert Richardson is a heck of a nice guy. He lets Dad and I hunt on his property right from the upstairs room of his cabin. This way, all Dad has to do is get up out of bed and open the window in order to hunt. The cabin overlooks a hillside with a clearing at the bottom. The deer cross there every morning and evening. It's a perfect setup for Dad. As long as I help fix the cabin up, we have been able to hunt there each year for free. Pretty darned cool of Robert.
Early during deer season this last year, Dad would sit and watch patiently out the window. We had killed one deer and I butchered it and dragged off the remaining carcass...head and legs basically. The buzzards were having a field day on the remains. Dad always calls buzzards "Mexican eagles"
Dad is sitting there in the afternoon waiting for another buck to come strolling leisurely across his line of sight. A big buzzard flies up and lands right outside the window and stands in the tree about 15 feet from the cabin, right at eye level. Dad tries to shoo him away, but the buzzard is persistent. He just stands there staring at Dad....and staring....and staring! After about an hour of him staring in the window, Dad decided to throw a beer can at him. He still didn't budge. So Dad called downstairs to me and said, "Next time we come...we're bringing a .22 so that Mexican eagle doesn't make me feel like I'm about to die!"