Pet ownership is bittersweet. The canine species are a source of comfort, protection and sometimes create bonds closer than anything individuals ever experience in a lifetime. Dogs can illustrate what it means to be totally, loyally selfless. But they can also bring a person down to their lowest point. There are highs and there are lows to owning dogs; both facets I was fortunate enough to experience this weekend.
There is an ancient belief that when a hunting expedition goes wrong or bad times befall someone, it is because they have done something wrong. Whether they cheated, lied or murdered, people had an inherent fear of the repercussions of sinning. So now I sit in the 21st century and mull over why exactly I have yet to harvest anything, despite two months of seriously devoted hunting.
I figured it was a stroke of pure genius when I figured that I would write a blog entry while sitting in the stand. How perfect it would be, I surmised, that I could fully express how it feels to be in a stand and fully immersed in nature. However, as any hunter knows, no one's thinking while waiting in the stand is ever truly coherent. The forest allures a hunter into thinking the most random, profound and ridiculous thoughts.
It was a cold Thanksgiving morning. My boyfriend at the time and I were at a turning point in our relationship. After a year of relatively good times, things were starting to go sour. The weekend after opening day I came home to a half-empty apartment. It felt terrible because at first, I experienced a sense of relief. Relieved that I wouldn't have to hear him complain everyday, wait up for him or have to be the one to tell him to leave.
I've hunted deer and waterfowl. In the near future, I wish to hunt bigger or more exotic game. I frequently walk down the isles of various hunting stores while looking in wonder at the rows of huge racks, gnarly horns and statuesque oddities that hunters value. Oh the animals I'd love to take a crack at.....
Ah the wondrous hunting mecca that I wish to someday call my home, Bass Pro Fishing. With its abundant cornucopia of all things outdoors, Bass Pro has keenly perfected the ways to make a hunter fall on his or her knees, open their wallets and spend until the said hunter is in desperate need of government bail-out because their credit card over-charged itself. Bad credit card.
DU has been a little busy beaver this weekend. After coming home empty-handed from Henderson this weekend, his manliness, obviously hurt from not killing anything, needed to be expressed through the art of building things. I decided to be the uncharacteristic Suzy homemaker and clean the house while DU went to his motorcycle shop for a couple of hours of greasy work. Once my work was nearly complete, I heard the distinct sound of the garage door opening, things being thrown out of the garage and wood being thrown out of a truck. I opened the door to see the entire contents of the garage in the front yard and DU facing the wall, staring, as if trying to figure out how wood is made. Once his meditation on all things produced from trees was over, he told me he was going to build a work bench so he could, I assume, do "man" things (ie- butchering animals, cleaning guns, playing with chemistry sets and building things out of Leggos) in his Man Cave.
The Writing huntress
I hunt. I write. I wear what some consider an unnecessary amount of camouflage face paint.