Day 218 CJSM

Day 218

 

 

Dad getting his deer in his underwear while

standing on the balcony of our house at New Hanover

 

 

I left many a track as I trampled this grand old earth over the years; many in pursuit of deer.

I confess that there were years where I lived for deer season and then waited for it to arrive, again. Oh! Sure enough! There was plenty of planning and plotting and scouting and stand building and target practice and research to fill the annual drought and I fully participated.

One fine whitetail season found me literally “up a tree” in a deer stand waiting to ambush the wily critter; soaked to the bone in a chill-late November Midwest down pour---all blasted day!

The next morning dawned clear---dry…and, frigid! If I had to work under such conditions, there would have been a plaintive outcry of despair and unfairness exacted, sure enough. But, this sacrifice was all for the good cause of deer hunting. And, I do not exaggerate.

One season opened with a Midwest ice storm the weekend prior to Thanksgiving; I would not have even considered exposing my tender body to the trials of getting to work that day---Never!

It was a god-send from dear Mother Nature offering a built-in excuse to play work-“hooky”!

But, Independent-Individual Frontiersman that I foolishly fancied myself in those days, I plunged forward, driving eleven miles to the hollowed ground where the wily whitetail lived---no other hunters were about, no traffic, no intrepid souls (save---me!?)…I was alone as I crawled on hands and knees up the steep slope to reach that Happy-hunting-ground” two hundred yards away. Slicker than the proverbial “owl’s grease” was that dreaded “slick”-ice challenge.

I persevered! As I triumphantly reached the pinnacle---fog set in…thick! Damn! The luck!

Ah! The adventures and trials of a hunter; all in the making of a tale! I reckon that’s so!

I sure enough bagged a fair share of the wily critters over the years; enough for a lifetime.

Enjoyed the friendly banter and camaraderie with the “boys”; lots of laughs and fun; many, actually, most, now traveled to that “Happy hunting ground” yonder---May God bless them!

So, back to my tale of the “underwear”-shooter. After the two days of un-fruitful chasing on the hills living through the Friday-deluge and the Saturday-“deep freeze” with nary a deer-hair for my effort, I decided to “sleep-in” on Sunday and trek on down to “deer”-heaven about eight, or so. The kids were getting ready for Sunday school; at least, some of us pretended to observe the Sabbath. I came into the living room in my winter “long-johns” to peek out the French doors into the back pasture to get a feel for the weather that day. The kids and my lovely wife scoffed at my “hunter’s” attire but did it in a surreptitious manner so as to not offend. I knew!

Looking through the glass, out over the frozen water in the swimming pool and beyond the wood-board horse pasture fence---a…deer! Fifty yards away and standing stock-still!

I scurried back through the house to the front door where my trusty weapon waited for the master to arrive for another “un”-eventful hope. Taking the gun from its carrying case, I fumbled in my coat pocket for shells. Loading while traipsing back through Lady Candice’s beautiful home and taking a detour down the basement steps; I silently opened the French door in the family room, built directly under the upper living room where I had spied the deer, just far enough to slip the barrel through. The deer had obligingly waited.  Well!

Taking “Davy Crockett” dead-aim, I slipped off the safety and gently pressure-squeezed the trigger. Ka-boom! The matron’s fancy dishes on display clattered at the booming assault.

And---I…missed! What!? The deer mosey on further away ac\ few steps, not alarmed. Wow!

Ejecting a spent shell, I jacked another round into the chamber, too a “Daniel Boone”-aim---and…”missed”, again! Hmm! Not too good a show for the family after all those long tales!

Slamming-home my third and final-chance cartridge, I took , yet another, bead on the hapless deer, took a breath, exhaled half of it and slowly pressured the taught trigger---Ka-boom!

Oh! Dear! Those poor fancy china plates; sure enough hope they didn’t get chips in them; maybe, with just a bit of luck, the mistress-of-the-mansion won’t notice for a long time!

Two things happened simultaneously with my third and final effort to put venison on the table: 1) That poor ole spike-buck dropped right in his tracks (probably chose death over being harassed by some fool-poor shot); and, 2) I suddenly realized that my little girls had witnessed my killing of “Bambi” from the living room above where they had been, unknown to me, watching the captivating, if somewhat humerous antics of the great-white-hunter episode!

Ever since that day, and, I did harvest several more deer over the years, I was always hesitant and most reluctant to “pull down on a game animal” with that horrid memory of shooting “Bambi” as my progeny witnessed the assault. It left a lasting impression on me.

For the anti-gun/anti-hunting crowd out there, I no longer pursue the sport. I do not expect that they will ever understand, nor endeavor to do so, that the harvest of game is not some satiating conclusion to a “blood-lust” mental deficiency; the “pursuit” is the adventure!

Analogous to a baseball game spectated for enjoyment, once the “essence” of the “game” is understood with its myriad demands, rules, regulations, nuances, pleasures, any sport, including the adventure-of-life begets pleasure in the “playing” (participation) of the outing. Simple!

In fact, in my waning years, I am beginning to suspect that “collective” man is much too self-absorbed in his faux greatness to ever begin to understand “fun” simply for the pleasure.

Anyway, be all that as it may, there, is the story of the intrepid deer hunter shooting a deer in his underwear. That factoid is not an infraction of any rule-of-hunting of which I am aware.

To paraphrase the late Groucho Marx: How it got in my underwear, I’ll never know!”

 

Ah! Cookie Jar Sweet “Boone & Crockett-venison” Memories!