I slid the gun from it's case, glanced at the barrel and it read, "20 Ga." That's when I knew was in trouble.

It was an annual trek to a dove field on a friend's farm. Not big numbers of dove but a chance for a few guys to hang out, blow the dust out of the shotguns and work the rust out of the joints.

Last year however, I bought a new gun... a Stoeger over-and-under. I picked this particular gun because it had a set of interchangeable barrels... a set of 12 gauge barrels and a set of 20 gauge. When I picked up said gun at the house and cased it, I just assumed it had the 12 gauge barrels.

I was wrong.

Fortunately my "shell box" did include some 20 gauge shells so I was not DOA, I was just working with an unanticipated handicap.

In my day, I was a great shot. I mean it... I prided myself on taking a limit of doves with less than a box of shotgun shells. Dove hunters know "that ain't easy."

Shell manufacturers claim the national average is one dove bagged for every seven shells fired... or roughly 3.6 dove per box... or about 4.2 boxes for a limit of 15 dove. In "the day," if I went over a box, I got a little bit nervous and perturbed.

But Saturday a few things had changed... I was 30 years older than those "single box" days, my eyes weren't quite as sharp... nor were my reaction times. Nor did I have my trusty 12 gauge with a significantly enhanced shot pattern.

All of the above greatly influenced my shooting success (or lack thereof). My daughter was texting me scores of the UT game. At one point I texted back "Me - 1, Dove - 10."

I got the swing of the little 20 gauge with a skeet choke, and did a little better... I probably just barely bested that "national average."

But something else had changed from 30 years ago. Back then if the shotgun went "bang" and nothing fell I got this real sick feeling and a horrible knot in my stomach. I never played football but I suspect it was sort of like the feeling players and coaches get when they first fall behind in a game. It's not good... a time when emotional pain can turn almost to physical pain.

Saturday however, the sick feeling never came ... well, maybe just a little bit ... but nothing to compare with days gone by. I simply sat back and relished the feeling of "hope" that comes with sitting on a dove field on an incredible September evening. Waiting and hoping for the next opportunity. Jerking at the sound of someone yelling "Birds!" or "Over!" Nervous anticipation as a little gray ball of feathers darts and dives across the field, coming at you like bullet bouncing off invisible walls.

It didn't happen near as often as most of us wanted... but it happened enough to get the dust out of the barrels and rust off the joints.

But by golly, next time I'll be certain to be sure the barrel on the gun reads "12 Ga." before I leave the house.

Ross Malone takes the crew on a little "hay ride" around the dove field, without the hay.

Host Charlie Davis relaxes after the hunt.