Venison Blessings

The ole fat boy just completed his 40th year of deer hunting.

Reflecting back brings to mind a few learned truths:

1. All deer have an internal calendar.

(How else can ya explain that you always see the most deer and biggest bucks the weekend before and the weekend after deer season, but they largely disappear otherwise?)

2. There is little to compare with the feeling of anticipation and promise one senses during the predawn hours on the opening morning of deer season.

(It doesn't matter if a deer is taken; it only matters that you are alive, in the darkness you are one with nature, and you know you are engaging in a time honored tradition that you enjoy.)

3. The most treasured memories of deer hunting revolve around the sights and sounds of nature that one is privileged to see at close range.

(This season included witness to the mating ritual of the resident bucks, the whistle and soaring majesty of the ranch hawk, and the blessing of sunrises that take one's breath away)

4. All the "fun" ends once the bullet leaves the end of the barrel and finds its target.

(Ain't nobody in their right mind ever said "guttin" and "haulin" them puppies out of the woods is "fun"?)

The deer count on the Tin Star this year included two decent eight points and one doe. The grocery equivalent that now resides in the ranch freezer is about 100 pounds of sausage, some steaks, and the always welcome jerky.

The "pleasure/satisfaction" factor for this past season is off the chart.

Thank you O' Lord for these many blessing in the life of your most humble servant.