My dad is a hunter. Did you know that? Whenever he talks to me about hunting, he usually starts with- now I know you don't want to hear this...- and then tells his story. Why he tells me the story, I don't know. It's not that I am super opposed to hunting. I just don't want to participate.
For my 21st birthday (and Thanksgiving weekend), I decided to spend the weekend with my dad (Rick), my stepmom (Lorie), my brother (Michael) and sister (Rachel). It was also my first (and last) hunting experience. My dad had me put on a bunch of camo and sprayed raccoon pee on my shoes (the last time I wore those shoes).
Yes, I have mascara on. Big deal.
Yes, I have mascara on. Big deal.We went into the the woods and tracked a deer for a good 4-5 hours. Finally, my dad had the deer in the crosshairs of the gun and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Double safety lock.
And the deer pranced away. The Lord answered my prayers.
Can you imagine what I would have done with a dead deer in the back of the pickup?
Click.
Double safety lock.
And the deer pranced away. The Lord answered my prayers.
Can you imagine what I would have done with a dead deer in the back of the pickup?
Passed out. Guaranteed.
There he is...
There he is...
1 comment:
I too once went hunting with my Dad. It was cold and miserable. I am so grateful he didn't get anything either. I, however, was not so fortunate a few years later when he caught a possum in his backyard while I was visiting...I'll leave the details to your imagination.
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