There is nothing better than a home-cooked meal, and there is nothing better than fresh game when you're preparing a home-cooked meal. One of Life's Great Truths, there for you free of charge, courtesy of Irrelephant. You can thank me later.
When I was single, I didn't do a lot of cooking. I'm not bad at it, I just never really desired to do a lot of work in the kitchen for one, so cooking was something done pretty rarely. And naturally, my menu was pretty slim when I cooked, until one day when a shepherd knocked on the door. Seems he was wanting to tell me about Mammon or something, and had a handful of pamphlets, but before he could get into his spiel good I had invited him in, plied him with some warm beer and conked him on the head with my favourite marble ashtray. A next-door neighbor of mine saw the whole thing and instead of turning me in as I thought might happen, it turns out that what I had done was pretty common practice, as the place is lousy with shepherds. It just so happens he was an amateur butcher, and before I knew it I had a deep freezer full of ground meat, so I did what any red-blooded American would do--I made Shepherds Pie.
You know the dish--a layer of browned ground meat, a sprinkling of veggies of your choice in it, (I prefer onions, corn and bell peppers diced in,) a layer of cheddar cheese, a thick layer of mashed potatoes then a sprinkle of cheese on top to decorate. Bake it well, and you've got a fine filling meal.
So as the years go by, I think of that eventful evening. I came home last night and to my delight, the wife was making a big batch. We usually set a trap out with weak beer and black bread, and we had caught a youngish shepherd while I was at work yesterday. When the wife got home she did the necessary, re-armed the trap, and had a lovely meal going when I got home. Always one to attend to current business, before the meal I made sure the sheep had found their way to the Sheep Liberation Front meeting by the bayou, and that the Australian Herding Dog was bedded down for the night with the others.
That's the only problem with wild game for Shepherds Pie, you see: dealing with the sheep and the sheepdogs. The sheep aren't too difficult--there's a huge enclave of them meeting behind my field, and they've got a government and everything. I poked my head in one afternoon to see what was going on, and they had a ratified constitution and all, some really great laws, and a small army. For them, democracy works really well, because they all vote the same as the first sheep at the polls. The problem being, naturally, that they're all too meek to make the first move into domination. Too sheepish, one might say.
The dogs are the easier of the two. They never seem to want to leave, so I built them an agility course out back, and I give them plenty of running room. They busy themselves all day weaving and dodging through the course, timing each other's performances, and they jump through burning hoops, and form huge, teetering canine pyramids and other sorts of things. In the afternoons they take turns herding each other, and at night it's poker and all the kibble you can pack in, so for them it's a pretty good life.
Now if only I could find a way to get rid of this box full of pan pipes and old robes.