After the last post it is nice to be able to say that life is going well. And it is a long post too.
It was a great time to go on a vacation to see family and search for the elusive Bambi that existed in the surrounding woods. 882 miles later dad and I arrived at the grandparents' house. It was to be a little over a week of relaxation and time away with dad.
So I packed up the Beast (the giant truck) and loaded in with the dog and dad and headed up north. The dog had the most space of any of us. Dad, of course, drove the whole way. Fine with me since I am not particularly in love with driving the Beast, in fact I am definitely not a fan of driving it. I far prefer my little tiny blue baby that could fit in the Beast's bed.
To be honest, I was not expecting the visit to go well. Politics and religion are topics that my grandparents are fond of--not for discussing, but for pontificating. The soap boxes get more use when dad is not in the room, so I stuck to dad during times of likely inflammatory comments, such as when Fox news was on the T.V. As it turned out there were only a few attempts to start a political discussion and those were easily sidestepped and dropped! Yay!
Operation number one was to get Bambi or his dad into the freezer. I had more practice this time and was going up knowing that I could do it. It was hard. Harder than it should have been. We scouted all around the Black Hills of South Dakota to find the perfect deer--then I did the worst thing I could do; I gut shot a deer by getting in a hurry and not waiting to shoot. What does gut shot mean? A long painful death. And I did it. My responsibility.
That is part of the deal with archery hunting, it is not as detached as rifle hunting. You almost feel like you can reach out and touch the deer. You know when you have wounded an animal and when you have made a good shot. The gut shot was my fault. The final shot was my responsibility as well.
It was nearing sundown and the end of hunting time. We were out with my grandfather who had his tag for a white tail buck that needed filled. He had already gotten his (tiny, but still meat) deer that was dressed and in the back of the Beast. A deer that had been taunting me daily was now out of the no-go area that was the local neighbor's garden plot. He got stupid. (Ya see, deer have this sense. They know when they are in safe areas and during safe times. Only the stupid or careless ones get caught outside and in targetable areas.)
So Mr. Stupid, a large but only two points on either side mule deer, was in clear view on a flat area looking broadside at me. Perfect view. I snuck up a little and waited while he stepped a little further out. Forty yards, dad had said. Just on the edge of my effective range. I aimed and shot--right where I wanted. He went down quickly, which was good since the daylight was dwindling fast. Dad backed up the truck onto a hillside so that we could lift the 130 pound monster (okay, a monster for me) without actually lifting the entire weight. We got him (Bambi's dad) and the little one (Bambi) and made it home with time to spare.
Wednesday we got the deer. Thursday, therefore, was a day of rest while the meat set (good, since it was also Thanksgiving and nobody wants to work while stuffed). Grandma made a smorgasbord of foods that busted my diet--and I didn't care one bit. Friday was a morning of getting the deer all cut up and freezing so that we could leave early Saturday morning. Saturday and then into Sunday was coming home. This time the dog had the entire back seat to himself with no cooler taking up a seat. Who gets preferential treatment, me or the dog?
So now I am almost home and staying at the parental units' house till my doctor appointment then going home. It is now cold here (okay, not COLD but in the low 40's) so I am not too keen on walking outside. Luckily I have a new-to-me treadmill coming into the house soon. No excuses. Just like the blog--no excuses for not updating!