My mind is racing since I talked today via cell phone with the hunting guide that is baiting my treestand for black bear in Michigan's Upper Penisula. The season opens Sept. 10.

Here I've been shooting my Mountaineer bow like a dedicated madman for the last month. Ordering the wife to corral the kids so I won't bounce a field tip off one of their cute, brown-tasseled heads if they were to come scrambling around the side of the house smack dab in the middle my balcony-to-deer-target archery range while I was shooting.

He originally told me that the shots would be about 25 yards. Tonight he tells me, "The bait is 40 yards from the hunter."

Huh? "So bow is out then," I ask.

"Oh, yeah, bring a gun," he says.

In some ways I'm relieved because I wasn't all that crazy about walking out of the woods with only a bow. He told me, "It's amazing how that rifle will feel like a little stick when you're walking out of there at night."

Gulp! Naw, I'm all business. Bring it on.

At least now I'll have a reason to retaliate tomorrow against the looney neighbor's constantly eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEE-rrrrRRRRRRRppppp, eeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEE-rrrrRRRRRRRRRppppping guinea hens. All I heard today in my head as I drove into work, which is a 35-minute trip, is the drone of chirps.

Time to hit the back-yard gun range, which is a perfect 40-yard shot. C'meer, guinea, guinea, step into the target area. Heh, heh, heh.