Oh Dear!

Monday morning, first site of the day:

“Dude, I’m leaving,” the foreman said.

“Leaving? It’s 7:30. Short day?”

“Come here.”

He walked me over to the back of his truck. Lifted up a covering. There was a huge, very dead deer back there.

“Got him last night. Arrow to the heart.”

“You killed him with a bow and arrow?” I asked. 

I couldn’t look at the poor guy.

“Yep. Perfect shot.”

“Not for him.”

He laughed.

“You don’t hunt?”

“If I tried to shoot something with a bow and arrow I’d be dead in the woods from a self-inflicted blow to my heart.”

He laughed again.

“Problem I have,” I said. “Was my Dad shot a deer and hung it in the garage. I opened the garage door and saw the poor guy hanging there and I was weeping for hours.”

“Ahh,” he said. “You’re a p*ssy.”

And I am. There’s no disputing it. If I see a mouse in the garage I’m not running out to buy traps. 

I’m shooing it out the door.

He hangs around long enough and I might name him and then sing songs to him.

We looked a little longer at the deer that he had on ice.

“Off to the butcher,” the guy said. “Can’t wait to get one with my shotgun. Ever shot a gun?”

“Nope. Remember what I am?”

“It’s so much fun,” he said.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“The meat is great.”

“I like beef,” I said.

“They don’t die of natural causes,” he said.

I laughed.

“I’m not against you hunting,” I said. “I just can’t do it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll make you some jerky.”

I didn’t want to tell him that I wouldn’t eat it.

The fact of the matter was I was sad for the big, old buck.

Good shot though.