Lee handed his eight-year-old daughter a shotgun loaded with a pumpkin-ball. She couldn't shoulder the heavy shotgun correctly, and the pumpkin-ball had less than the range of a football field. It was safe enough. His thinking was that he would send Eloise down one side of the hill while he quietly went down the other, hoping that she would scare all the deer his way. She would believe that she was a mighty deer hunter, while she was flushing them all his way. Brilliant! He congratulated himself in advance. Actually, his dad had used him the same way when he was a young hunter, so the trick wasn't really original. Lee had just paid his dues, and he deserved the beautiful doe he was about to plug.
It was doe season.
It was Autumn, breeding season.
"What do I do if I see a deer?" Eloise asked.
"Point the barrel towards it and pull the trigger," Lee said with a wink, but he doubted the awkward and loud little kid would see a deer. The possibility of her actually shooting one never crossed his mind.
Eloise began her descent with a wide front-toothless smile.
"Good luck," Lee called to her, as he began his trek down the other side of the hill.
A good fifteen minutes passed.
"BOOM" blasts the shotgun that was loaded with a pumpkin-ball.
Lee came running. Running toward the blast. Running toward his daughter. Running toward the fear that she had fallen and set off the shotgun and hurt herself. Running toward . . . the reality of an eight year old girl standing over an eight point buck shot dead.
"Shit!" said Lee. The buck was in rut. Its neck was swollen with hormonal macho deer smell. Eloise was so proud. "It's a buck. We were doe hunting." Lee pulled out his hunting knife and began quartering and dressing the deer. He was angry. It wasn't her fault. It was her fault. "Shit!"
Eloise cried.
A steak was slapped into a frying pan with a sizzle of butter. A waft of hormone infused steam filled the air with its musky pungency. The steak fries turned fries and was slapped onto a plate. Forks reluctantly penetrated the tough old buck. Knives sawed at him.
There was a big black bruise over Eloise's right shoulder where the shotgun had kicked her. Her shoulder ached as she lifted her fork to her mouth.
It was doe season.
It was Autumn, breeding season.
"What do I do if I see a deer?" Eloise asked.
"Point the barrel towards it and pull the trigger," Lee said with a wink, but he doubted the awkward and loud little kid would see a deer. The possibility of her actually shooting one never crossed his mind.
Eloise began her descent with a wide front-toothless smile.
"Good luck," Lee called to her, as he began his trek down the other side of the hill.
A good fifteen minutes passed.
"BOOM" blasts the shotgun that was loaded with a pumpkin-ball.
Lee came running. Running toward the blast. Running toward his daughter. Running toward the fear that she had fallen and set off the shotgun and hurt herself. Running toward . . . the reality of an eight year old girl standing over an eight point buck shot dead.
"Shit!" said Lee. The buck was in rut. Its neck was swollen with hormonal macho deer smell. Eloise was so proud. "It's a buck. We were doe hunting." Lee pulled out his hunting knife and began quartering and dressing the deer. He was angry. It wasn't her fault. It was her fault. "Shit!"
Eloise cried.
A steak was slapped into a frying pan with a sizzle of butter. A waft of hormone infused steam filled the air with its musky pungency. The steak fries turned fries and was slapped onto a plate. Forks reluctantly penetrated the tough old buck. Knives sawed at him.
There was a big black bruise over Eloise's right shoulder where the shotgun had kicked her. Her shoulder ached as she lifted her fork to her mouth.
