I haven’t been deer hunting in years.
As a younger man, I was consumed by it, getting up well before daylight, tromping into the woods, climbing a stand and rarely having any luck. I remember my first two deer kills in particular: one was ugly and the other dumb as dirt.
The ugly deer might have been handsome but somehow he broken off the antlers on the left side of his head and it made him look goofy. Plus, he was old, had the thin beginnings of a white beard across his chin.
He came running out of the woods, stopped to take a look around and headed straight for my stand. I got him in my scope and he was running so fast straight toward me that he got so close I could see little more than the tick in the hair on his shoulderd. I shot the tick and the deer crumbled at the foot of my deer stand.
The dumb as dirt deer approached my stand and was upon me before I ever saw him. He came up to the foot of my stand and I was afraid to shoot lest I blow of the toes on one of my feet.
Then he started sniffing at the first rung of the ladder. He was so close I could hear the sound of him sucking the air into his nostrils. Finally, I decided I might could do without some toes so I raised my rifle to shoot. The buck heard the sound of my movement and went dashing off into the nearby woods.
But, remember, I told you he was dumb as dirt. He returned to the clearing seconds later, apparently curious about what he had heard, and stood stone dead coldm, resembling an archery practice deer — perfectly positioned.
I hit the bullseye.