The Buck Stops Here

It's deer hunting season eve. It's the time when avid, die-hard hunters are sharpening their knives, checking their guns for the umpteenth time, packing lunches, snacks, and hot cocoa for a day in the woods, telling tales of "The Hunt of 1957" (or some other magical year), and dreaming about that trophy buck.

I am not a hunter. I have never donned the brilliant blaze orange apparel required for a day of hunting. Never once have I sat on a teeny tiny deer stand to freeze my extremities. I have never experienced the pride and joy one gets after bagging their first deer.

Until last night.

Traveling home after a ladies' dinner at my church, I was less than a quarter mile from home when I spotted a car on the side of the road. As I passed, I spotted a dead deer behind the car. A big deer. I wondered if the driver needed help, so five minutes later, Dad and I were back at the location but the car had gone. Dad checked out the deer and found that it hadn't been dead too long. A nice, big buck with both antlers broken off. (I have yet to go back and check the ditch to see if I can find them.) After a few phone calls (thanks to a tip from our neighbor), I was speaking with a conservation officer, getting permission to take possession of the deer. They are mailing me the license tag. Me--the non-hunter. I made the call... I get the deer!

So, here's my hunting claim to fame. I can't guarantee I'll ever have another deer to pose with, no need for a taxidermist any time soon. Like it or leave it, I got my deer with no blaze orange, no license (until it arrives in the mail), no bullets, no gun, and no smashed car!

I think this picture is hilarious! It looks so sneaky or something. Almost like Dad and Uncle Eric were gutting a deer before the season opened or something.

 Getting ready to hoist it up.

  My trophy buck!

Happy hunting tomorrow to all you real hunters. Be safe!