Sunday, July 12, 2009

This Dog Won't Hunt - Hunting from The Marvinator's Perspective.

I have a great respect for hunters. Much as I have a great respect for Fishermen, too. They can do something which, no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to do. Regular readers will remember me writing about my friend, James - The Catman. A better more consistent fisherman does not exist. His wife, Bev, hunts.

Not too long ago, I inherited the perfect hunting rifle from my father in law. It's a 7mm Browning with a fine powerful Bushnell scope. Kept in a padded case, it's a lot like that chain saw I got, in that my testosterone goes up just hefting it. Many years ago I owned a Smith and Wesson hand gun (a dual action semi automatic 9mm with a brushed alumimun look that had 'Bond, James Bond' written all over it's sleek grip!) That experience was very enlightening. There is something inherently macho about owning a gun, or a rifle. But I don't (read: can't) hunt with either one. I took the gun to the range dutifully several times and got to where I could group all my shots the way the professionals say. But get in the out of doors and hunt? No way!

It's not the gun, and it's not the idea of killing defenseless animals that keeps me from being able to put meat on the table. It's talent, or rather, lack there of. I couldn't shoot fish in a barrel. This is even worse of a statement for me when Bev learns that I now own a gorgeous Hunting Rifle and will probably invite me along next deer season. Oh I'm so looking forward to that (NOT). Leaving at Oh-dark-thirty to sit in the cold forest covered in Doe Juice...oh you don't know what doe juice is? Basically, it's DOE URINE or something which SMELLS like Doe Urine and will draw the big bucks to you. Yeah, I just am itching to get out in the woods and be covered in Doe Piss. THAT would really get my targeting skills up. I've seen Bev in action. Or rather, I've seen the fruits of her hunting labors. She dresses in the camo gear, carries a big gun much like the one I have in the closet, and she always comes home ever time with a big buck. I would not do well in her company. Suthun men would look askance at me.

When I was a kid, we spent our summers up on a farm in the Rockies. We stayed with an old friend of my mother's and her husband, Vernon. Vernon was also a consummate hunter. He would sit in one spot for hours waiting for the right shot. I still remember seeing that buck with his eyes shot out -straight through- and Vernon explaining that by taking out the eyes (with a single shot), the deer cannot run as far as easily. In addition, the bust is more usable (to sell to tourists, he wouldn't have one in the house) the skin is entirely without holes and every cut of meat is unblemished, and usable. Not trying to gross you out, just pointing out how he would wait for the shot that would take the deer out and down. No tracking for hours on end through the woods. I can still see that deer hanging in the barn while they skinned it.

Ok, enough of that. I'd like to be a hunter, just like I'd like to be considered a Suthunah. But, let's face it. Until they make a gadget for the big rifle which aims it more accurately than I can, well I guess I'll just carry the chain saw out to the back yard and chop me down a few defenseless trees. Yeahhhhhhhh....

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