Please Don't Cry!!!

Yesterday, Dec. 8, 2008, my youngest son, Hunter, wanted to go hunting. My brain was exhausted from a draining day at school, but since Hayden had just recently killed his first deer, I figured little brother deserved his chance. But there is one glitch, Kim is not home, she is shopping in Shreveport. This is only a problem if Hayden doesn't want to go hunting with us. If Hayden doesn't want to go, we can't go. Inside, because of my being tired, I am quietly hoping he will say no. Hunter is excited. He is already getting ready. So I ask Hayden if he wants to go (Please say no. Please say no). He says yes. Man, my only excuse blown away. So we all get ready and walk to the woods (or forest as Hunter calls it).

The wind had been blowing hard all day and when we settled into the condo/deerstand, it hadn't let up. About 15 mph out of the south. All 3 of us got comfortable in our chairs. Hayden is sitting there writing a report for school. Hunter wants to hold the gun so he can look through the scope. I'm tired.

Hunter can't sit in his chair and have the necessary height needed to view the shooting lane through the scope. Here we go again. Numb legs. So I let him get on my lap and look through the scope. To the wildlife in the area it must have been an unusual site. The black piece of steel protruding from the hole in the big box. The barrel of the gun would have been practically unnoticeable if it hadn't been moving. And boy do I mean moving.

I'm not exactly sure what all he laid the cross hairs on, but I know that sometimes it was almost under the stand, then it would be straight up in the air, then to the left, then the right. Sometimes the barrel of that 243 was moving so fast it looked flexible (remember shaking the pencil in your hand so fast it looked like rubber). I tried to encourage him to be still, but at the same time if he doesn't kill anything I don't have to clean it. So shake it Hunter, Shake it.

Since the wind is blowing steady out of the south, I am focusing most of my attention toward the north. Remember the old rule of deer walking into the wind, not with it. It's about 5:00. Hayden has finished his report and he is now an extra set of eyes to try and spot the deer before they spot the rubber barrel sticking out of the side of the stand. And the wind. What a nightmare. To Hunter, every leaf that hit the ground was a deer.

Out of nowhere, Hayden whispers quietly but firmly,"Deer, Dad, Deer". And sure enough, standing right in the middle of our shooting lane is a deer. He is eating our corn, with his face away from us, and his posterior facing us. I grab the earmuffs and put them on Hunter. I look over at Hayden, and he has already put his earmuffs on, has them covered with his hands, and is crouched down as though someone has just hollered, "INCOMING".

I had been very adamant with the boys about taking only "good shots". We had repeatedly gone over where to aim. But this deer is not moving. All we see is butt. So I lean up to Hunter's ear and whisper, "I'm going to whistle at him. He will turn. Then you shoot him". He turns enough so that I can hear him whisper. He says "Sir?" So again I said, "I'm going to whistle at him. He will turn. Then you shoot him". He nodded. So I whistled. The deer turned. The gun went bang.

50 Yards. Broadside. The deer dropped in his tracks. As soon as he did, I ripped the earmuffs off of Hunter's head and said "You did it. You did it. You shot your first deer!" I gave him a high-five. Then things quickly changed. Hunter is looking through the opening in the stand and tears start to form in his eyes. He sees the deer still flopping somewhat. He's obviously in his latter stages of life, but this is Hunter's first time to see such a sight. I'm thinking "Great, I'm raising PETA boys". So we climb out of the stand. The deer is dead, but we go ahead and walk back to the house to get the four-wheeler before we walk over to the deer.

Great shot. Both lungs. A button buck. We come back and Hayden helps me drag the deer out to the four-wheeler. I ask Hunter if he wanted to help, it was then he informed me he didn't like to get blood from other "creatures" on him. So we take our pictures, and clean the deer. Finally, I figured it was time to talk to Hunter about his emotional display in the stand. I have heard of a lot of kids who feel guilty after they have killed something, so I figured he was just another one of the many. So I ask him, "Hunter, after you shot the deer, you saw the deer still moving, and it looked like you were fixing to cry. What was wrong?" He said, "Dad, when I saw him start moving, I thought he was going to get away." You know what, that's made many grown men cry.