Chinese Viruses & Chinese Birds

The standard, torturous iPhone alarm ring is heard within my dream. I regretfully reach over to grab it off my nightstand, ready to hit “Snooze”, knowing I can’t. 4:00am displays on the screen. “Covid Positive” displays on the markings of my test. My immune system doesn’t know I’m supposed to be walking out the door right about now, en route to South Dakota, a fifteen hour quest for ringnecks. A bird native to the same country this virus is native to. This. Fucking. Sucks.

I stumble out of bed, coughing as I do, turn the shower on the hottest it will go, and stick my head underneath. A temporary symptom reliever I discovered as this is my second bout with Covid. I open my weather app to check the temperature in Aberdeen, South Dakota. -10. Shit.

Going to South Dakota in January with Covid seems like a suicide mission, and yet despite what Fauci might think, I still feel the need to go. My father, known for his poetic wisdom and advice, was the only sane person that would be up at this hour. So I gave him a call and explained that I was determined to still go on my trip, though I had reservations about my illness becoming worse, and maybe the best course of action would be to stay home and rest.

“Wasn’t PRIDE month in June? Just go on the trip!”

Poetic wisdom at its best.

After a fifteen hour trek, a bottle of Tylenol washed down with some OJ, and enough tobacco to make John Wayne sick (again, symptom reliever I discovered), I had made it to Aberdeen, South Dakota, and met my friends at their hunting lodge.

Upon entering, I warned everybody that I had tested positive for Covid, and I’d be willing to hide in a guest room when we weren’t hunting. An act, I thought noble, was immediately ridiculed by insults such as “Pussy”, “What are you scared of a Chinese virus or something?” “That shit’s fake, come have a beer!” etc.

The trip was a success, with more roosters harvested than I could keep track of. Although I am confident I took several years off my life, as the temperatures were well into the negatives that weekend when you included the windchill, which doesn’t pair well with a 102 degree fever. Not to mention all of the alcohol consumed. Wait, that’s another symptom reliever.

Surprisingly, after three days of hunting, my symptoms started to dissipate. I was comfortable enough to bear the near 1,000 mile journey home. Two days later I was in a treestand hunting whitetails when I got a group text from the friends I was hunting pheasants with.

“You got us sick! Brad and I both tested positive for Covid.”

My response: "That shits fake.”