My first kill
Despite my love for the outdoors and my history with breaking the necks of helpless bunnies with my boot, I have never officially been hunting. The deer around the world have been calling my name and mocking me for years, and I finally had to shut them up by shooting as many as possible in the face. The setting for my story is San Saba, known more for the size of their pecans than the size of their deer. The cast of characters for this story includes the infamous deer hater "Country" B, the Winston "The Butcher" Millican, and most of the Leif Haug clan who call San Saba home. Perhaps I should start by saying that some of the following story may or may not be completely illegal, and so should not be relayed to any Game Warden friends that anyone may or may not have.
The hunting began in the afternoon with a sighting of several deer from the front porch of the Haug house, which were spooked before Mr. slow motion B could get his weapon ready. After an hour or so staring at a broken feeder, I was feeling a little cold and bored so I decided to find my companion who was hiding in some nearby shrubbery. While sitting on the porch talking about future hunts, Winston comes flying up the dirt road with a friend who's name slips my mind. He proceeds to reassure us that if we proceed to the pecan bottom known by the name of "Lee Harvey Oswald"...or something like that, we will be certain to kill at least 30 deer a piece. This is where the story picks up a momentum.
Because the darkness was quickly approaching, we hauled tail to the pecan bottom in search of death and destruction. Although the stories of epic hunts by the Winston were exaggerated, the deer were still quite plentiful all around the field. Having rumbled over the terrain in search of the perfect kill, The B and I spot several helpless little deer nibbling on pecans and looking eerily like Bambie's mom. This of course did not slow me down and I proceed to take one of the sweet little ladies out with a perfect shot to the shoulder. We leave the deer in search of more carnage (this is where it might be important for your visualization to understand that we were still in the truck...which I had shot out of the window of), and spot a herd of about 20 deer frolicking around unaware of the F150 that was driven by a pure killer also known as Sheriff B. We whip the truck around and set up B for a perfect shot, the only problem is that there is about as much light as the inside of Drew's butt crack. After some encouragement to shoot despite his inability to see anything, B shoots and nicks the deer...in the toe I think. The deer eventually dies, which I still think was because she had a heart attack thinking about the amazing shot only a few minutes earlier that dropped her sister in her tracks. Now that is was too dark to shoot anything else, we moved on to the more gruesome part of the hunt, the skinning. For this task we brought in the professional, Winston "The Butcher" Millican. After making quick work of the carcasses, the Sheriff and I threw the leftovers into the river (which I was almost castrated for calling a creek). No more deer were seen for the rest of the trip, although we did see a Panther...but that is a different story.
The hunting began in the afternoon with a sighting of several deer from the front porch of the Haug house, which were spooked before Mr. slow motion B could get his weapon ready. After an hour or so staring at a broken feeder, I was feeling a little cold and bored so I decided to find my companion who was hiding in some nearby shrubbery. While sitting on the porch talking about future hunts, Winston comes flying up the dirt road with a friend who's name slips my mind. He proceeds to reassure us that if we proceed to the pecan bottom known by the name of "Lee Harvey Oswald"...or something like that, we will be certain to kill at least 30 deer a piece. This is where the story picks up a momentum.
Because the darkness was quickly approaching, we hauled tail to the pecan bottom in search of death and destruction. Although the stories of epic hunts by the Winston were exaggerated, the deer were still quite plentiful all around the field. Having rumbled over the terrain in search of the perfect kill, The B and I spot several helpless little deer nibbling on pecans and looking eerily like Bambie's mom. This of course did not slow me down and I proceed to take one of the sweet little ladies out with a perfect shot to the shoulder. We leave the deer in search of more carnage (this is where it might be important for your visualization to understand that we were still in the truck...which I had shot out of the window of), and spot a herd of about 20 deer frolicking around unaware of the F150 that was driven by a pure killer also known as Sheriff B. We whip the truck around and set up B for a perfect shot, the only problem is that there is about as much light as the inside of Drew's butt crack. After some encouragement to shoot despite his inability to see anything, B shoots and nicks the deer...in the toe I think. The deer eventually dies, which I still think was because she had a heart attack thinking about the amazing shot only a few minutes earlier that dropped her sister in her tracks. Now that is was too dark to shoot anything else, we moved on to the more gruesome part of the hunt, the skinning. For this task we brought in the professional, Winston "The Butcher" Millican. After making quick work of the carcasses, the Sheriff and I threw the leftovers into the river (which I was almost castrated for calling a creek). No more deer were seen for the rest of the trip, although we did see a Panther...but that is a different story.
posted by Josh Haug at 2:00 PM
1 Comments:
Other than the description of light, this was a great story! What did you put that in there for? I had a great picture in my head until that insert, Josh!
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