The Deer Hunt

Several days ago my friend, Bob Pinard, asked if I wanted to go hunting. The weather was supposed to be good, and since I didn't have anything pressing, I agreed to go, although I had to think about it for a little bit. In years past when I've hunted with Bob it required my being up well before daylight, packing a ten thousand calorie lunch and taking enough ibuprofen to pre-empt the pain that I knew I would suffer after traipsing through the thicket, up mountains and down ravines. He always seemed to choose the very places that I would never even consider hunting. He's one tough fellow. At sixty-nine years old, he's got eleven years on me, but you would never know it. He seems to have the ability to shrug off pain and most challenges don't seem to bother him. Though he wouldn't approve of my saying anything, it's my blog, so I'll mention that he's one of the most generous people I've ever met. On the day we went out hunting we took his truck and he insisted on hunting an area that I'm familiar with. One, of course, that isn't too terribly difficult to get around in. He wanted to follow me, thus giving me the first chance at any deer that appeared. It just so happened that after a relatively short walk I spotted this buck following a small doe at the edge of a muskeg. He was completely enamored with her to the point that he let down his guard. It cost him his life- kind of like Samson in the bible. Let that be a lesson to ya fellows- sex is great, but don't lose your head over it. Before I could even get out my knife, Bob bent down and started gutting it, the whole time telling me what a great deer it was. Afterward, he reached in his pack and drew out a drag strap and together we dragged it back to his truck. There was no snow on the ground and the deer was heavy and most of the way was uphill, but Bob didn't hesitate. We had to stop frequently to rest, but we got it delivered to the truck. Since I don't have a place to hang a deer, he stopped at his shed where he helped me get it hung up. Then he helped me skin it. This Sunday I'm going to his house and we're going to butcher it- in his shop of course. I may not be a wise man, but I sure know how to pick friends.

On a different note, I noticed several things after I posted these pictures. The deer looks better than I do. It certainly looks much neater. I look like I've been in a fight with a grizzly bear- and Bob did most of the work! It looks kind of like the buck is wearing mascara or eye liner, while I look like an animal that got caught in the headlights of a car. How can I explain that? I really should work on my appearance I guess. Not only do I look slovenly, but I look older that I am too. One of the gals here in town thought I was old enough to be her grandfather, and she's twenty four. I guess I need to lose thirty pounds, get some false teeth and dye my hair. Oh well.

One final thing, though it has nothing to do with deer hunting, friends or false teeth. I have in front of me a quote from a book from Robert Fulghum. He's one of my favorite authors. The book is Word's I Wish I Wrote. It's full of quotes. In this season of political ads this particular quote seems appropriate- at least to me. "If you're not involved in the sweaty work of the world, you shouldn't be in charge of the deodorant concession." I totally agree.