*WARNING - THE FOLLOWING POST MAY CONTAIN CONTENT DISTURBING TO SOME VIEWERS. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED*
Ha...bet that made you want to read it, huh? Well, fair warning - if you don't approve of hunting, don't read this post. Yes friends, Hades has probably frozen over (feel that chill in your toes?)...
...as many of you know, I *gasp* killed a deer this past fall.
Now let me give you a little background. Most of you know I grew up outside a little bitty town in southwest Missouri. I've been fishing my whole life, but hunting has never interested me, even though I'm well versed with both guns and hunters. Matter of fact, I've always held hunters in a little bit of contempt...what could be so fun about sitting there waiting for some hapless creature just minding his own business to come by so you can blow it to smithereens? Of course, it's not like fishing at all...I mean, casting a thing out in the water which looks EXACTLY like food and dragging a poor fish through the water by his lips when he tries to get a bite to eat surely is the sport of kings (and queens). Yet, somehow fishing was different in my mind than hunting...hunters are cold-blooded killers, right? Even though I realize the importance of hunting to keep wildlife healthy and thriving, I still viewed hunters as rednecks with no compassion, who just thrive on the kill.
But, in my old age (and with my marriage to a true redneck), my views have changed somewhat and I realized that just maybe I was being a leeetle too hard on hunters. Last year I finally relented and let a friend take me turkey hunting. I found out there is a lot to turkey hunting...they don't just waltz by and pose so you can shoot them. Matter of fact, I've been four times and have yet to get within even a quarter of the distance I need to be to put one of those birds on our thanksgiving table. Stupid little buggers...to be outsmarted by a bird will humble a person a bit.
So Marden is a hunter, and yet he's not that cold-blooded killer. Redneck, yes...but that's beside the point. And since I've introduced him to my passion of fly fishing, I decided to give hunting a try for his sake. So, this past deer season he took me hunting on his family's farm.
We rose before dawn....WAY before dawn...and Marden advised me to take a shower or else the deer would smell us. Oh good grief. It's not like I stink. But he insisted, and shortly we were both "non-scented" and in our camo duds and blaze orange, bundled up good because it was freezing out there. I've never felt so ridiculous. But out we trudged, guns in hand, to a spot Marden thought would be good where we commenced to sit while the sun came up. And we sat. And sat some more. By this time I've totally lost interest and am trying to figure out what kind of bird that is over in a nearby tree (some kind of wren), and trying to remember what it felt like to have feeling in my butt. By the time I'd resorted to amusing myself by braiding blades of grass, Marden let out a soft "pssst" and pointed up the hill. There was a doe! Does aren't legal, but during the rut (breeding season) usually there is a buck not far behind. This time, however, the doe seemed to be going solo. We decided to give up and go get some breakfast and give it another try that evening.
After a good breakfast and a short nap, we trudged out again just to see what was going on and skirted the perimeter of the farm, ending up at the big hay fields down the hill from the Hooter household. Now it's the middle of the day, and we're just meandering non-chalantly near some big hay bales chit-chatting, not even trying to be quiet, when Marden looks over my shoulder and sputter-whispers something like, "Deer...buck...there's a buck...shoot that buck!!!" I whirled around throwing my rifle dramatically against my shoulder to come face to face with an 8-point buck about 75 yards away. I shot before I could think, and my buck ran a little ways and plopped on the ground. I burst into tears.
After my husband consoled me a bit, we ran to see the verdict. Now I was starting to get proud...LOOK WHAT I HAVE DONE....I SHOOT MY OWN MEAT! GRRR!!!
So everyone was completely impressed that I got a deer not only on the first day of season, but that it was an 8-point and that it was the first time I ever even shot the gun. Marden of course had to show me up by bagging a BIGGER 8-point the next day. Well nyaa.
And the moral of the story is - deer hunting isn't as fun as fly fishing by any means, but it is pretty fun and you get to dress cool. And, when i look in the freezer trying to find something to fix for supper, seeing all that delicious *free* meat sure is rewarding, and it will last us all winter with plenty to share.
This is Marden and I next to his deer before it was field dressed. Marden's aunt dubbed this the "Deliverance Photo." I was trying to look like a tough hunter. I think Marden was going for the "I just peed my pants" look.
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