It was shortly after the pre-dawn gloom. A critter walked into view; a fat doe followed by a smaller doe. I hesitated. When would I process it? Wasn’t my freezer already full enough? I had shit on my mind. I eased off the trigger and waited.
My hunting partner wasn’t so clueless. He was 50 yards off to my left. BAM! Good shot! The fat doe bucked like a bronco and tore off into the forest.
My partner tried a follow up shot on the second doe. (We had ample tags.) I couldn’t tell if it was a hit. The doe trotted toward the forest. I decided to put it down just in case. Unfortunately, a tree branch blocked my view. Damn it! I watched through my scope as the doe trotted off. Based on its stride, it had zero fucks to give. The doe next to it had gone airborne and then hit the land speed record for the forest edge. This one was in no hurry to do anything. I took it as a good sign. It was probably mortally wounded.
A few minutes later, my partner showed up and we were both very happy. My concerns about election volunteering were completely forgotten. Now I had visions of steaks and full freezers.
He was ready to gather his critters and begin the arduous work of gutting and hauling. I wanted to wait a while. Better to let them die quietly than harry them lest they run. He agreed. As we were happily chatting and planning a future of steak dinners, another doe showed up.
We already had two. That’s plenty of work and plenty of meat for two guys. Wouldn’t a third overload our limited available time? Then again you get the chances you get. One must choose among what is and not what might be. As a meat hunter I rarely pass a fair shot. Three deer might work us to death but meat ain’t cheap and there’s a time to put up or shut up.
At my partner’s urging I took aim. The deer turned it’s ass toward me as it grazed. I could have taken the shot. I know my marksmanship ability (both the good and bad). I’m 100% sure I could have taken a shot that would have been fatal, even on that small-ish target. But what a mess it would be! I had visions of a big gooey deer-splosion. Imagine a bullet entering near the rectum, mushrooming out, and blasting through the organs like a cruise missile. It might ruin some meat and I’d have to gut it with a ladle. I noped out on that idea!
Patience grasshopper. I spent long agonizing minutes watching that ass through the scope. It clearly had no idea we were there. But every second was a chance for a shift of wind or a stray noise. You can’t wait forever!
It turned crossways and I felt pretty smug. But immediately it disappeared behind some brush. I was shit out of luck. Egad! I’d held that shot for such a very long time only to have no shot at all!
Regardless, I held still. It ain’t over until it’s over. Every nerve was vibrating but I was willing my heart and breathing to remain calm. So far it was working.
It stepped forward and through the brush that was blocking my view. I finally had a clear shot. Breathe out, squeeeeeeeeze.
Bam! It took off like a rocket. I was sure I’d hit but I had not visually verified the strike. (When you take a shot you almost always know if you hit or not. But it’s better if you see some blood through the scope; that way you really know for sure.) I followed through the scope it as it ran and racked the bolt. Before I could do a follow up it dove behind some more brush. (I suck at follow ups!)
I swung to where it would surely emerge. Nothing. It was like it stepped behind a blade of grass and teleported away.
Ten agonizing minutes later I could wait no more. My deer (or wombat!) had piled up not a foot past where I’d lost sight of it. It was small but well within my tag; it was just what I wanted. Small, young, critters are more tender than old ones and they’re easier to carry out. Also, I wasn’t sure I could fit a large animal in my freezer. (Two overly full freezers! What a delightful first world problem!)
The first doe had barely made it into the shadow of the trees. With a better view we’d have seen both drop, but we’d had to spend several minutes before we found out the truth.
My partner wasn’t sure he’d gotten the second doe. Replaying in my mind I thought about my initial impression that it’d been hit so hard that it was moving slow out of a mortal wound. I remembered that the doe had stopped to grab a mouthful of grass on the way to the forest. A severely wounded animal will sometimes walk slow but they’ll never stop for a snack! It had been missed and was probably utterly confused as to why the deer next to it had run off in such a hurry. Even so, I tracked the area carefully to make sure there wasn’t a hint that it had been affected. We upended every leaf, twig, and stem of grass over a goodly area; just in case. It was a clean miss. Whew!
Three deer would have been excess work but one split in half would have been minimal food. Once again, providence had dragged my idiot ass into the ideal solution. I’ve got to get better at trusting fate!
Then came the hard work. This is the internet so y’all are required by law and tradition to tell me that your grandpa could gut a deer in 5 minutes with a pocket knife but I’m not him. It’s hard work in my book. Then again the drag wasn’t too hard and soon I was enjoying the electric heated seats in my partner’s truck as we hightailed from hunting grounds to my place for butchering. (This hadn’t been part of the plan but thankfully my friend never bitched once about my crazy ass dedication to the election judge conundrum.) Even with the heated seats, my back ached the next day.
The rest was a flurry of work. Since I’d cocked up the schedule we were in a hurry. We violated every OSHA regulation in creation hanging the carcasses from a nearby tree.
Then came the next decision. Was I going to “level up”? Most of my hunting “career” I’ve hunted solo and then hauled my animal to a butcher. I’ve sheepishly paid a fortune to have someone else turn it into steaks and reasoned that one man alone only has so much labor to expend… which is just an excuse. My partner is made of sterner stuff than I (and has all sorts of cool butchering equipment too!). The initial plan had been to butcher them ourselves.
Tough schedule or not, I wanted to do the whole thing. Hunting turned to butchering. In the middle of this I slipped off to vote absentee for the first time in my life. I didn’t like that but I’d been backed into a corner.
(I’m opposed to just about anything other than “vote in person, with ID, at the specific place you live, on the single day of the election”. I didn’t always have that opinion but I’ve grown hardened with time. I’ve seen the corrosive effect of trying to squeeze every vote from fuck ups who can’t even make one appointment every other year. As far as I’m concerned, part of being a civilized human being who’s got his shit together is the ability to get to a place on a day with ID in hand. Everyone who’s done a job interview, gotten married, flown on a plane, attended a rock concert, or made a golf tee time has gotten to a place at a time. If you can’t make it to the polling place, you haven’t skin in the game. That may sound cruel but if you’re too busy then you’re too busy. Also if you choose not to make the appointment, it shows you placed a higher priority on whatever else you might care to do (like go hunting). Call me a Neanderthal if you wish but unless you’re on a ship at sea, in a coma, or deployed with the military you should either hump it to the polling place or not vote. But it is what it is and I voted absentee specifically because I’d be an election judge in town B instead of town A where I live.)
Butchering is a bear of a job. I’m at best modestly skilled at such things. I tried to learn everything I could by watching my more skilled compatriot. I hacked at my smaller animal (and wore myself out in the process) while he sliced and diced like a Japanese hibachi chef. Damn but what I’ve got a lot to learn!
Having sliced, diced, wrapped, labeled, and played Tetris to cram it all in the freezer. I was exhausted and smelly. Oh did I mention that we burgered the grindable bits? I can say with complete honesty that catching the output of a meat grinder in the little plastic bags feels exactly like when a baby takes a dump while you’re holding it. TMI? Too bad! I’m sharing the experience so y’all can enjoy the cycle of life in all it’s yucky glory.
Through this all, the dog absolutely lost it’s damn mind. The hanging carcasses and skin and garbage can full of “icky bits” drilled into the poor dog’s mind and fried it’s circuits. Our cute, fluffy, puppy has always been completely amenable… but when it smelled the discarded bits it just lost all semblance of rational thought (or what passes for it in an airhead dog). On periodic walks, the dog had to be physically dragged away from “the garage of enticement”!
More to come…