What did I miss?

Lady Hunter

12 pointer
Jan 12, 2009
4,995
Hundreds of pictures of hummingbirds
Oh I can't resist doing this!!!!!!

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kyhunter99

12 pointer
Dec 21, 2014
3,951
Still in the kitchen Ky
Yeah I got a story for ya.

On a frigid November morning the sun had yet to peek above the horizon. With the cloud cover hanging low it wasn't as if it could if it wanted to. Mother's death certificate laid across the computer desk, still crinkled in two places from where it was mailed. The header swayed gently as the wind from the ceiling fan pushed it back and forth. She died young, never made it to 60 and the man at the crematorium uttered his condolonces over a long distance call just last week. A life full of bad decisions had finally came to a lonely end. I turned toward the screen of the computer and examined the weather conditions for the morning. Checking the barometric measurements, wind speed, and direction to see if any last minute meteorological changes would foil my plans of taking a buck in the next 12 hours. It hadn't.
With a plan carefully laid and cemented in my mind of how the morning would go I grabbed the last of my gear and keys and headed for the farm. Thoughts spun over the course of the drive, some hopeful and some sorrowful. I hoped for a turn around in my luck. The weeks previous had been hard with managing things in the legal world, in the family world, and now the door to every cage you can imagine was finally flung open and I felt free.
I thought of how carefully I planned this trip, keeping everything so precise, the yardage, the anatomy, the plan... all running in concert, running so smoothly I thought.. that it HAD to be a win. I had limits on what I wouldn't shoot. No fawns, no nannys, no buttons or spikes. Everyone had their own ethics, I felt assured in mine... Having heard some broken hearted hunting stories of crying fawns while kneeling over their fallen mothers. That didn't quite appeal to me, not then.. And as a mother especially not now.
My mind flashed back to some native american proverb I had read somewhere in the annals of the internet... "Whatever you do to nature you do to yourself." Or something of that mindset. There is a lot of wisdom to be gained through the elders of those tribes, my fathers skin was adorned with tattoos of that kind of wisdom that I had read all my childhood while he worked on cars or the yard. That saying never wandered very far from my mind after I read it.
My father was asleep, I considered waking him to join me on the hunt but decided against it and moved on toward the blind, the timing was perfect, and frost thickly coated the grass of the field. In the still of the woods that I walked between there was a lone owl that crooned his foreboding song, it seemed to announce my arrival but I paid little attention. Laser focused on my plans and my blind I climbed in like a ghost, and set up my rifle.
The minutes went by swiftly and shooting light arrived, the owl turned in for the morning, and my eyes scanned the woods. A good sized silhouette shot out from the thicket 100 yards below me, standing out like a sore thumb from the blue grey frosted ground. A doe. And 30 yards behind an even larger one came trotting. This time of year bucks were putting their pressure on them, wanting what all bucks want that makes them so easy to kill. I readied my rifle in case whoever "he" was made an appearance. The first doe slipped off into another stand of timber to my left but the larger one behind stopped as if hypnotized. She was directly in front of me, her head and ears at full attention as if she could see me right through the blinds netting, and before I knew it I had placed her in the crosshairs. It would be too easy of a morning, and I suspected she was a nanny doe as well. But... a small voice inside me whispers "It would be a fast hunt, and with the temperature I could always wait for a buck if I harvested this one. She could lay where she falls for a little while." The doe didn't budge. A cemented broadside to my shifting plans. The crosshairs pointed out right where the top of her heart should be. So much research went into that decision, I always aimed for the heart. Specifically the top of it, where I had read would lead to the fastest bleed out. Only fools get tossed by the waves of their own inconstancy. The person I had been my whole life, probably from a legacy written in my bloodlines. A scar permanently etched above my right eye, and one between my eyebrows of two different times I should have known better but kept going anyway.
The sound of thunder filled the woods and a troubled doe sprinted away, tail up at first, then clamped down. I sat and waited, checking the time and ejecting an empty shell.
The blood trail was the broadest I had ever seen, written in an arching Morse code across the icey blue grass, yet even following it for 40 yards I saw no sign of the doe that made it. Then just as the trail entered the edge of the woods it stopped. My hunting mentors words scrolled across my mind "It's amazing how far a dead deer will run." And he was right about that, it was amazing. But no blood? After a sure heart shot? Working semi circles from the point where it ended found nothing else, but glancing toward a stand of cedars directly to the right and 25 yards away I saw a fleck of white fur where she laid, her back toward me and still.
I examined her wound and marveled at the lack of blood, there was so much of this morning that made no sense to me. Clutching her hind leg and pulling it up to drag her away from her resting place I could clearly see her teets and bag, still soft and slightly warm and full from nursing whoever her baby must have been. I turned to look up the draw, back toward my blind, and next to the blind that was so carefully concealed, there stood another antlerless deer. Broadside, just as the mother doe was before I pulled the trigger that ended her life, she was looking straight at me... straight into me.
"What you do to nature, you do to yourself." I looked back at the dead doe, knowing she was too heavy for me to drag, and rounding my shoulders I headed back up the hill to get my father to come help. I walked straight toward the doe that stood by the blind, who kept its convicting gaze fixed upon me until I was 40 yards away.. then as if her point was proven, she lifted her tail and disappeared into the thicket.
I took a shot I said I wouldn't take. Going in I thought I knew enough, but as day cracked through on that morning looking back I can only see myself for the weakened fool that I was. Not uncorruptable, not untemptable, and inconstant as the moon by the light of which the owl croons his haunting song. Later I ate the heart of that doe after I had trimmed away the back half of it. It was gnarled from the bullet's path, and I reflected on how far a dead doe could run, and still not end up where you think it would.

The next year I again took a shot of a different kind that I said I wouldn't take, I thought I knew enough, and again let myself be fooled into thinking I was untemptable, uncorruptable, invincible. And ever since my heart rate sometimes races to the 120's, and my blood pressure is never constant... When I look into my kids eyes I wonder yet again at the ancient indian wisdom which speaks of karma, and also how far a dead deer can run.
 
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