My First Deer

The wind howled across the praries. It’s voice swirling, cyclone like in the bare trees. I crouched in the tree line next to my fiance. He stood with his bow, scanning the empty cornfield. The weather had begun to turn, fall turning into winter. The usual wind and cold was also well on its way.

I hadn’t grown up a hunting family. The world of hunters in general was a new thing for me, a new discovery. It sounds dramatic, but I felt a bit like Columbus sailing off on the ocean. I could feel nature around me, filling my senses. The leaves rustled as a fat squirrel scampered across our path. I had a brief mental flash of the squirrel rearing up on its hind legs and going ape shit. But then again, my imagination has been weaned on Monty Python.

Anyways, we waited an hour until the first deer was spotted. It was a young buck to our left, making its way along the fence line. My fiance could see it before I could. In the past, deer has been little more than a brown blur to more. I stood in fascination, watching its leisurely walk across the corn field. Inwardly, I was pushing for it to get closer.

I looked to our right and saw another deer less than twenty yards from us. It hadn’t made a sound. I stared at it’s eyes. The eyes were huge pools of black. Its nose twitched. I could feel my fiance and I both saying an inward pray, please don’t smell us. The wind gave a fierce moan. The buck went stock still, wiggled its nose and bounded off away from us. Its white tail an erect flag of warning. Alas, the kill was not to be.