Deer Season

I bagged my first deer yesterday. Really. Our dog drug up a carcass – complete with everything except the meat. The lazy hunter didn’t dispose of the remains, he just took what he wanted. So I took a large trash bag and, well, I bagged my first deer yesterday.

I used to hunt. I went with my Dad a few times and enjoyed getting out there and listening to the sounds of nature. But I’ve never seen a deer when I had a loaded gun in my hands. I gave up hunting a long time ago. I get it, it’s just not my thing. I’d rather shoot one with a Canon than a rifle.

When I came to Cross Road to meet the people, preach for them, and let them vote on me (we Southern Baptists have some strange rituals!) we had a Q&A time after lunch. Someone asked about my hobbies and I rattled off golf, photography, and travel. A voice from the back of the room said, “Don’t he like to hunt and fish?”

I remember one particular hunting trip when I was a teenager. My Dad and I went with one of his buddies from work, Jack Derreck. Jack reloaded his own ammunition and was proud of his work. He was bragging about it as we walked back to the trucks. When we finally made it, Jack took a handgun from behind the seat of his truck (it was perfectly legal and accepted back then) and demonstrated his craft. He took aim at the nearest STOP sign and pulled the trigger. The bang was loud. But we saw the lead from the shell squirt out the end of the barrel and land about ten feet in front of him. Way short of the target. We all agreed that something was wrong, got in our trucks, and drove off.

That’s my Deer Camp Story. If you are a hunter, I hope you have a great experience this year so you can tell you story, too.

I hope our trash man doesn’t read my blog.