One Bullet

It’s that time of year again. The leaves have changed, fallen to the ground, and there is a cold bite to the breeze. My alarm clock squealed at 6:30 am, which meant it was time to roll out of bed and squeeze into 3 layers on the top and bottom. My dad, cousins, and I all ate breakfast and talked about the good ole memories from the past until the clock reached 7. At that time, I took the four wheeler and headed to my lounge up in a tree.

 

It was still dark, and I was fumbling over tree branches while getting whacked in the face by bushes. I hung p fake deer urine around my stand, and, of course, managed to spill some on my coat. The good news is the deer won’t be able to smell my human scent. I climbed up into my stand and slammed my shells into my gun. The sun was barely peeking through the trees, and everything was beautifully silent. My stand overlooked a small swamp, corn fields, and a forest. As I sat there and waited, I listened to the birds chirp and squirrels running amuck around the forest. I never realized a squirrel could make so much noise, yet deer and bears move silently.

 

The forest was finally awake, and I was working on my deer calls. Gunshots were firing all around me—sounding like a war zone— but it was helping me to keep my heavy eyelids open.

 

I kept scanning the trees over and over again until I saw something; I did a double take and, sure enough, there were two does standing behind the brush. My heartbeat began to race, and my whole body shook from the nerves and the cold. I was texting my dad about being freaked out because the last time I actually saw a deer while hunting was when I was 12 and still sitting in the same stand as my dad. He, of course, told me to put my phone down and focus.

 

The two does were cautiously moving closer to the swamp until they reached it and started drinking. As they were drinking, I quietly reached for my gun and pushed it up against my shoulder. I clicked the safety off and waited until they were in the correct position to hit what my dad calls the “Boiler Room.” One finally turned its body, and I had waited long enough to shoot a deer. I aimed, breathed, and pulled that trigger. My ears rang, and the the deer fell to the ground. One bullet was used, and I couldn’t help but yell in excitement.

 

When I picked my phone up to let my dad know, I read the words, “Wait for a buck; you don’t have to shoot Bambi’s mom.” Being the emotional mess I am, I started crying but laughing at the same time.

 

As this was happening, my dead doe was kicking and managed to fall in the pond. My dad had texted me saying he was walking over, and my heart was beating still. I couldn’t believe I had finally shot a deer even if it wasn’t the prize-winning one. I’ll never forget my dad’s face—he was so proud. It kind of made it seem like a prize-winning, 30-point buck. He pulled the doe out the pond; next was gutting it. I won’t share those gory details though.

 

Deer hunting 2018 was certainly something special even without the hunting because I was surrounded by family and was able to reminisce about the ‘good ole days’ while we ate yummy home-cooked food. I know a lot of people are against hunting, but I am so happy I got the chance to experience this every year.