Oh teh noes...

It appears that, barring a last-minute miracle tomorrow (as in, antlered deer attacks me enroute to my Jeep), the deer have won this year and I have lost.  This year’s lesson was actually a reinforcement of a lesson from a very very cold hunt several years ago in Minnesota…if Abby sees a small spike ten minutes into Opening Day, she should shoot it.  Failing to do so angers the deer gods and guarantees no antlers for the rest of the season.

 

Lack of venison aside, I’ve had a blast plotting with Dad and crashing through briar patches and swamps with Neighbor Boy.  No matter how many years you’ve either struck out or shot a deer the size of a house pet, General Firearms Deer Season is still the occasion to hope for a monster, and to have your pulse elevate with every cracking twig.

 

You may have foiled me this year, evil whitetails, but next year I have a date with the 30-point buck.

Dooooog Braaaaaaains....

And in weird news from the deer hunting front…

 

Dad got a deer yesterday (Go, Dad!).  Respectable fork.  He brought it up to his barn and proceeded to take the required “this is my deer” photos.  Jack was present.  Dad found himself moving the deer’s head for pictures, and Jack started barking in terror.

 

Who’d’a thunk it?  Apparently, there are zombie deer, and my black lab is the only dog in the world who can sense them.   

 

Skunked!

Alas, today’s score is Deer 4, Abby 0.  That is, Views Offered (of any deer, regardless of size, sex or nationality) as contrasted to Shots Taken.

 

Fortunately, it’s not frigid here at all, and so it was mostly just a very nice day of watching squirrels.  And listening to squirrels.  And being woken up from nice outdoor naps by squirrels…  And there were, of course, multiple episodes in which squirrels pretended to be deer just to get me excited.

 

Tomorrow, we try again!