What am I going to have for dinner? What is the meaning of life? How does my significant other feel about my absence? How many bouquets of flowers and dinner dates are going to make up for being away all night? Do I even love her/him? Why does he like Rascal Flatts? Does that cloud look like a banana holding a crying bear? If I kill a deer, will I have time to dress and butcher it tonight before work? Does my camo match? If I was a deer, what would my name be?
Yes, readers, us hunters are deep people. Which made this plan completely backfire. After scanning the vast area around me for a good hour, it was only natural that I started thinking some random things. While conceptually it was a good idea to attempt this venture, what resulted was a series of nonsensical ramblings punctuated with things like; "Paused to stare at leaves", "Thought I heard a deer", and more often than not- "Wait. What was I writing again?"
Therefore, I looked through my notes and compiled a best of the best series.
So, without further adieu, A Hunter's Thoughts.....
I forgot Doe Pee. And now I have to pee. Damit.
A carpet of leaves has been newly installed and they crush with every one of my steps. Disallowing a silent entrance, the leaves appear to be the forest's alarm system.
The once solidly green foliage has begun to transition into a sea of color. God's Fall skills are second to none. Each color different from the next, the leaves fall to the ground leaving trees naked to the looming winter.
The yellow ones are always my favorite, red a close second.
Something about the way the trees look of pure gold remind me of crispy corn flakes.
The mystical kind that never sog in milk.
on nutrition & health...
I never drink the milk at the bottom of the cereal bowl once the good solid bits dissipate. DU hungrily gulps up the remains of his Grape Nuts laden with the bovine byproduct. I don't understand this. He swears Co-Co puffs are the best for residue milk consumption.
Apparently it tastes like chocolate milk.
Well then go buy Ovaltine?
DU dropped me off at the land we hunt about an hour ago. Once I had compiled all the necessary parts that make up an afternoon bow bunt , I kissed him and he drove away. He now shall trek back home in order to clean and do laundry.
I believe this is the first time in history a man has ever stayed home and cleaned so that his girlfriend could hunt.
Men world-wide should take notice of this.
on understanding the male sex...
There is a scrape under a tree across from mine. I wonder what the human male equivalent to a scrape is.
Since scrapes are a sign of dominance and marking one's territory, then the human version must do the same.
Scrapes are mobile and can be erased or messed with by a bigger, more dominate deer.
Messing with said scrape drives the deer nuts, thus making them come back to check on it. This makes it easy for hunters to mar a scrape to lure unsuspecting bucks into their final resting place.
So what is a mark of territory that can be defaced and is a source of manly-man pride for the human species?
I hate squirrels.
Titus loves them and wishes he could befriend every one he comes in contact with but I hate them.
Is there any reason God made these little rodents act like they have a serious crack addiction?
I get so excited when I hear those telltale rustling noises that clearly can only be made by gigantic animals. When I find that it's a pair of squirrels chasing one another merrily up and down trees, my expectations deflate. Not a deer. Just squirrels. Damit.
I swear the tree across from me has faces in its bark.
I keep looking and the expression changes.
on psychological disorders...
Hunting is insane. Literally. One definition of insane is doing something over and over, all the while expecting an alternate result. Hunters sit in the same tree stand on the same land for years. Decades even. And each year they yearn for that big buck.
I use the same camo, sit in the same stand and use the same calls.
And I still think all the effort will yield a different result.
This hypothesis is proven fully when I analyze my trigger obsession.
While in the stand, I'll habitually press the trigger and hook on my release at the same time. This makes it so that both decompress and are useless in pulling a bow string back.
I'll pull on the hook until I hear that satisfying click. That little click connotes that my release is ready to kill.
Ready- until 5 minutes later when I start the process over again.
I still hate them.
So there you go. My random thoughts as dictated by nature's divine absent-minded intervention. Feel free to share your own!