I’m the person who takes the spider outside to set it free instead of squashing it. I’m the one who will shoo the fly out as well. I swerve to miss everything from chipmunks to deer and I cry when I watch those TV commercials to save the animals. I guess that makes me a softy.
And then along comes deer season.
And while I don’t go out and do the actual killing, I am quite the accomplice. I make sure the hunting socks are found, the appropriate amount of orange is worn and sandwiches are made. I get a little excited as my husband and Son#2 head out at the crack of dawn and I say a little prayer (another odd occurrence) that they come back and they come back with buck. It’s sorta thrilling, the hunt.
I guess I got a little killer in me.
And when I get the call, usually when I’m finally back to sleep, that a buck has been taken, I get excited again. Oh boy! Vension! (Blech, really, I don’t say that.) But I do get excited and I rouse the daughter and we grab the camera (and the tarp, which he forgets almost every year) and we head out to the scene of murder. We chat, even though it’s early, and we giggle and fairly vibrate with anticipation over seeing a carcass.
When my men come into view I think that they couldn’t possibly look more handsome and at that moment it didn’t matter that my son was asleep in the vehicle when my husband took this majestic animal or that it’s got a funny looking rack. They’ve both got a flush to their cheeks and a swagger in their step. The thing will go on the wall. And honestly, I kinda like it!
We snap pictures and we look it over and we give my husband some serious chops about nearly losing his lunch while gutting it. My son tells me that he’s got a new technique to making his dad vomit and I’m so proud of him; I’m nearly beaming. That’s my boy.
As they bitch and moan about how heavy it is as they drag it into the back of the SUV and as I wonder silently if it’s gonna smell up the place and wonder not so silently what the hell I’m gonna do with a bunch of deer meat, I do it only half-heartedly. Because they’re happy and they’re big brawny men who are so brave and strong and can provide for their family. I’m nearly in tears watching them, the middle ring under the big top, hoisting this damn bloody creature into the back of our Expedition. Blech, I say it again, blech.
We dropped it off at the processor and he headed back out, minus his rifle, and maybe our son will tag a buck as well. And then we’ll play this whole blasted scene out again. Happily so.
No, I’m not a killer, but I’m a damn good accomplice.