Saturday, October 17, 2009

I'm a deer widow, ya'll

Now while I realize that those of you who are not afflicted with living in certain tracking, hunting and fishing meccas may not realize what this means, rest assured that I feel completely qualified in filling you in on the nuances of what it means to live with a hunter. No need to thank me, it's a public service, really.

Everything has a season. White shoes, new cars, football, and in this part of the country and many others…camouflage. The sheer volume of camouflage items in my house is overwhelming. It's a wonder I can even find the damned things, what with them being camoflage and all. But then again, why would I want to?

The man hunts deer. Now before you send PETA to string me up by my fake nails and throw Halloween blood at me, let me assure you that the deer population in this state is high enough that several are dying of a wasting disease that is caused by this over-population. With few natural predators (not counting SUV’s and night shift workers driving home) the deer in this area are bountiful to the point of self-destruction.

With that being said, one would think that it would be easy to take down one of these elusive creatures. Without much hoopla and such. Nay, nay.

Did you know that they make soap that smells like dirt? Body soap, shampoo, laundry detergent and dryer sheets. And they are all in my house. Now why pray tell would we pay good money for such items when there are cute shoes just begging to be bought? So the deer can’t smell the Great White Hunter lurking in the forest. Honest Injun, the man showers and clothes himself in “Fresh Earth”. In his attempt to enter the woods not reeking of cigarettes, Axe® and buffalo wings, he showers with dirt. Color me flabbergasted. It’s a good thing he’s cute. (I’m just saying.)

After emerging from the bathroom smelling like a freshly tilled garden, the packing begins. Oh my, the packing. Folks, I have run away from home with less stuff than this man takes for a day of hunting. After donning many layers of camouflage clothing, packing his camouflage bag with his camouflage equipment, and grabbing his camouflage bow and arrows, he will proceed outdoors to load all of this onto his camouflage four-wheeler. I’m sensing a pattern here.

All of this will continue every weekend until mid-January. There is bow season, gun season, muzzleloader season, throw a bowling ball at them season and probably others that I have no interest in. It’s a long haul folks, for a deer widow. Feel free to stop by with your condolences. And a casserole.


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