Roadkill and Hunting

I have tried and I have tried to secure my deer for the year and have yet to spear, arrow or blast a lousy horned trophy. It is no secret I am a fair weather hunter, meaning I prefer to sit in the warmed woods in the afternoon in weather above 20 degrees while refection on my memoirs or past gallant actions of bravery much like Braveheart.

Getting up in the morning, for me is brutal beyond common knowledge. It just hurts, in part because I stay up late loving the quiet of nights, encouraged by a couple fingers of Jamison, and in part because a bed is a beautiful thing, all comfortable with a nice warm girlfriend holding on to me. This girl friend is not a Patreaus biographical concubine but my favorite bedding partner, my wife. I feel lousy so early, the head is a fog (sorta normal), my body has aches and pains and Jesus doesn't even want me up then because it is still dark.

 But for gun season all the action is early on the first day, maybe the 2nd day and after that the herd has been decimated and the survivors are huddled in some bog terrified to make a showing. So, I got up hell bent on redeeming myself----after not capturing one with the bow or a crossbow (an old dudes version of a bow and arrow but with a trigger, a 200 pound pull and scope). These are not the cross bows of 15th century France as illustrated by Monty Python.

I sat out there for the better part of two days and saw damn little but did have the opportunity to go face to face with a 6 pointer. He was a behind a tree 15 yards away and I was behind another tree. And even with the 870 I was not able to get in position for a shot.There I was looking around my large oak so carefully and he'd look around his eyes glued. Back and forth for 45 seconds until he got the drift of my intentions and tripped out of my woods. I could have laid down a barrage of lead but that is not an ethical style, fun maybe but not cool. Guys do love guns and shooting, however.

Finally today after not becoming a real hunting mam, I had to head home for the Packer game and the comfort I have become accustomed to. On return, I will admit the thoughts went to finding a nice roadkill because they are not uncommon and a fat warm one would fill the bill. Nothing until 2 miles from home and there right on the shoulder was a fresh kill. I whipped the car around and bolted out of the running Golf to pick up a very fat pheasant, still warm and in possession of a very broken neck. The weekend was not lost---and I never got a single tick, saw 2 porcupines and many nuthatches, Palliated, and assorted wood peckers along with one million Crows.