Another yarn. Feedback welcomed.

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My significant other, eldest of three, is bright, fair and loyal. A couple of years ago I knew it was time to take the next step – to meet her parents. I stayed at their house for a couple of nights, and I guess it must’ve gone alright. Her father, Fos, suggested that a hunt was in order – a test, of sorts.

“We’ll head up the Kirkliston Range,” he said, and added, “It’ll be a fair hike up the hill.”

No worries, I thought. This old fart just turned fifty – should be no problem keeping up with him. I knew I could impress him with my marksmanship, too, as I had shot dozens of rabbits with a .22 and I was a crack shot. Of course!

After a night at the Kurow Hotel we drove to the farm access, slung the pack and rifle and headed for the hills. It wasn’t long before we found a few wallabies bounding through the scrubby guts. Fos offered me first shot at a fat hopper not a hundred yards away. “This is my chance,” I thought to myself. I squeezed off the easy shot from my .308.

“Miss,” I heard from behind me. Maybe I needed a little shooting practice after all.

We carried on over the ridge and down into the hut. I tried to hide my relief when we sat down for a cuppa. I was exhausted, and Fos didn’t even break a sweat! This test was not going well. But I was determined, and I suggested we head down a nearby gully for the afternoon.

A red-brown spot in the corner of my eye caught my attention. A young chamois buck had materialised below us, and was now in high alert. We slowly ducked behind a large Spaniard and devised a plan – Fos, having already demonstrated superior shooting ability, would sneak around the other side of a spur and I’d give hand signals to direct him closer in for a shot.

Long minutes went by as Fos closed the gap. The buck perceived no danger, and went back to grazing. Unfortunately, he ambled back around the invisible side of the spur. Soon after, Fos came into view. I tried my best to indicate the direction the buck had gone. A tense game of cat and mouse was unfolding in front of me. The hunter slipped back out of sight. More long minutes passed, then finally – BANG! BANG!

This was my cue to come down and check out the action. I found Fos and learnt that he and the unwary chamois had almost collided. This sent the animal into a sprint, and a couple of off-hand running shots were taken. We took rest on a flat rock bench above a bluff. Glassing, we could see that the chamois had finally come to rest a few hundred yards away. It was a rush of excitement, followed by relief – we got him!

The whole ordeal must have been a bit much for old Fos, ‘cause he rolled to his side, forgetting we were on a bluff. He was barely clinging on when I reached down and hoisted him back to safety. Shakily, he thanked me and said, “You saved my life! I guess I owe you my firstborn.”

I’ll take that as a test pass, Fos 

Hah! That's brilliant! A proud sense of humour can definitely be amiss for first impressions!

I had just bought my first large motorbike (1000cc cruiser) when I met my partners parents for the "first" time. I found out after they told her "Either he goes or the bike goes".

It took me just 6 weeks to get the mother in law on a motorbike (actually a FA50 but it counts- sort of) and she rode it for many years. She was doing 40km per day mail run on a push bike. Not after I met her........Sold her the first one myself...! dating 3 years, married 20 to the same lady and I still have the SAME motorbike and I still ride it!!!!!!!! Still have the same in laws too.