I never got a good look at the deer. All of a sudden, it was standing there, 50 yards away. (It is true that last fall, on the fifth day of the season, I had an inappropriate relationship with a buck.)

I was looking the other way when I heard a crunch. I turned. (It was a critical lapse in judgement.)

When I realized it was an eight pointer, I raised my rifle but forgot to take the safety off. And when I pulled the trigger, nothing happened. (Though I legally stated the facts as asked, I may have misled some people.)

The buck looked up then bolted before I had a chance to do anything about it. (This is now between the people I care the most about; my hunting buddies, our bartender, and my Buck-Monkey.)

I’m so bummed, I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. (Even deer hunters have private lives.)

Fawn bleat, crack, crunch… multiple deer! Instincts take over. Brain begins to battle physical reaction of muscle twitches. Twitches become spasms. Brown moving – one deer. Flash of white contrasted against the hunter green of swamp balsam and cedar – that’s two: doe and fawn. Spasms become convulsions. Arms flail miserably into air while heart pounds out of chest and eyes rotate independently. Could this be all – only two small deer? Man, I can’t hold rifle up; no feelings below waist yet sweat bleeding from forehead.

Get a grip! Fingers, aching – gun, damn cold. Sphincter, unreliable. Deer, turning to leave – jeez! But wait, something catches my eye between head snap and spastic writhing. My God, nice buck! Good eye to scope – side of tree and arm prop rifle to steady bounce. Breathe in, exhale halfway and hold. Squeeze… stop! No good – too much bounce. Start over; breathe in, exhale and hold deer accommodating – squeeze, a little harder, more, more… BANG!

Nice buck, wide fork. Never a doubt…

Mental Note: Must ask doctor about these convulsions.