I can remember a time when I would go the whole season not hearing a gobble during legal shooting hours. The only turkeys I'd see were in the ditches along the side of the road as I was driving home. In those years the best excuse was "no turkeys came on the property."
There is a variation of that now even though I have decent flocks to deal with on my little 200 acre patch. There will be days when everything shuts up 10 minutes after fly-down and there isn't a gobble to be heard for the next 24 hours. I can go hide out at one of the honey holes and wait. I can go back to the house and do chores. "I picked the wrong hole." suits fine in the former. "Nothing was gobbling, so I came home" suits for the latter.
"I screwed up." works for the general list of failures I encounter-- calling wrong, getting busted, etc. At the heart of it was usually a lack of patience. Nowadays, its' usually more the other direction-- I could have gotten up and run off to do an end around or crawled through the sticker patch, but I am now just too old and lazy.
"Didn't have my mind on it" sufficed for the days I didn't let the job go and just go turkey hunting. One year, the job was weighing so heavily, I just packed up and went home. I may not have that excuse again for a while. It always made me feel sacrilegious-- kind of like listening to a ball game on the radio while sitting in a church pew.
Nowadays, it's the turkey's laughter that I find the biggest problem. It grows louder every year. I find myself with my back to a tree listening to it, and it just slowly wears at me. It starts just after flydown, after all the turkeys disappear from sight. I know what they're doing-- they're all sneaking around to get behind my back and snigger. They're laughing at my silly calls. They're laughing at my camo. In early season, my feet get cold and wet and they laugh at that. Later on they laugh at the skeeters biting through my face mask at my ears and nose. Eventually I can't take it anymore and I come in for lunch.
"How'd it go?" KYHillChick will ask.
"They hung up." I'll say. She'll nod like she understands, and bring me a cup of coffee and some biscuits and gravy. I just can't bear to tell her that it's all the sniggering finally got to me.