Hunting

“Ready?” my dad asked, gently prodding me into awareness.

“No” I replied as my surroundings came into focus. The smell of coffee was strong as I rose from the carpeted floor.

 “You should eat “my grandma wisely said. I refused mumbling something about butterflies in my stomach. My dad shook his head possibly remembering his first year.

 I reviewed the safety of hunting in my head as I pulled on a thick cotton shirt. Several pairs of pants followed.

“It’s gonna be cold,” my dad intoned as I complained of the warmth. Soon we (my dad and I) trudged deep into the wooded property, guns slung over our shoulders. We had woken up that day at 5am. All was silent in the vegetation surrounding us.

 “It’s so peaceful”, I thought as I stopped to adjusted the troublesome gun strap digging into my shoulder. My father looked back, promising that we were almost there. Soon I felt my legs were going to give out. Suddenly off the ridge came the deer stand. We climbed the hill and each mounted separate stands.

 Hours crawled by slowly. I went between sleep and consciousness. My dad abruptly roused me.        

 “Look,” he whispered. I followed his arm down to the spot where he pointed. There a small figure strutted in the path below us. I was surprised to see the complexion of a fox.

Suddenly I heard gunshots far off and then quite near. I sat up straight in my stand. Fear jolted through me as the thought of a stray bullet killing me found its way into my head.

I guess I fell asleep cause’ I don’t remember much. The next thing I knew I was half way through getting some chocolate from my pocket. I looked up to scratch my nose and jumped.

Finally, the time I’d been waiting for! A doe (or so I thought) stood behind a tree eating the sparse grass. I grabbed my gun to my chest and found my target in the scope. But thinking better of it I leaned over whispered to my dad “Can I shoot it?”

My dad rolled his eyes exasperated. I took that to mean a “yes”.  I found my target again.  As my finger curled around the trigger I wondered what mother I’d be killing.

 “Just do it” I thought. And I did. BOOM!!! The stock of the gun slammed into my shoulder leaving a bruise the size of a small grapefruit.

 “I missed” I thought for a heartbeat or two. Then the deer staggered and collapsed, dead.  I walked down the hill to the spot where my prize lay, my dad on my tail. My dad whistled as we found an 8-point buck as tall as I was.

THE END