I’m being taunted. Bullied, you might say. I have called my local game warden, but he says there is nothing he can do. Deer hunting is supposed to be fun. Hunters are supposed to have the upper hand.
Sometimes, Mother Nature doesn’t play her cards that way, though.
Five times recently, I have gone to the woods, done everything I know to draw in and bag a deer, only to draw a blank. In fact, I’ve just about worn out my bullet putting it in and out of the chamber. Nada. Not even a quick view of one scurrying across the clearing. But they are there. They eat my corn. They rub my bushes. The leave their tracks in the mud.
But that isn’t what really bothers me. What bothers me is one evening recently I came home to see two big does, standing at the end of my driveway, munching on my white oak acorns. Another night there were five deer in my backyard before I even went to bed. Gee, they could at least wait until I turn off the TV. And I don’t say up that late.
But this is out of hand. This pushed me over the edge. I flip on the backyard lights and there are seven deer. Seven. C’mon, bring your friends. Have a party! I’m gonna get a crossbow and I’m NOT going to call the local game warden. What do you think about that? (Okay, not really, but it’s tempting).
But here’s the kicker. Four of them were BEDDED DOWN for the night. Just laying there, watching the moon over the lake. All over the back yard. Sacked out in my Centipede. Laid up and just having a good old time.
I got even. The next night I thawed out two packs of deer steaks I got from a better, and more lucky hunter, than I. Right after dark about the time the deer had been showing up, I fired up the old fryer on the back porch and started frying. Ah, the smell of fresh deer steaks in peanut oil filling the night air.
Tell you friends about that, old deer buddies. Well, they must have. Because they haven’t been back. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE.