I didn’t get one.  Nope, I did not shoot a deer.  Oh I tried, once again, before the season was over.

There was snow on the ground, it was a nice enough day, and I finished at the office a little early.  Going hunting, I told the secretary, an accomplished huntress herself.  Good luck, she replied.

I’d need more than that. 

I hustled home and got into my gear.  This time the whole nine yards – the long johns, jeans, t-shirt, sweatshirt, insulated camo bibs, camo vest, and camo windbreaker.  Oh yes, the camo hunting gloves, the kind with the tips missing and the mitten cover that folds back.  And, the orange, yes, the orange – the vest and the knit hat.

Yeah, I did remember the rifle and the possibles bag, but when I looked for the hunting license it was nowhere to be found.  A fruitless search of the entire house and an equally fruitless 1 mile trip back to the office succeeded in making me start to sweat.  This stuff I was wearing was meant for sitting in the woods, not for racing from pillar to post!

I had to go back on line, necessitating a second return to the office, to download another license.  The copy cost $5, but before I got out the door the secretary made sure I made two or three more copies of that copy.  She knows me too well!

I’d loaded the rifle before I left the house, declining to put the percussion cap in place until I arrived in the field.  The snow revealed that deer were still using the highway passing beneath the tree stand I’d used a week earlier.  I climbed into position, altogether disdaining to use the harness that not only ensured my seat but hindered my movements on that other occasion.

By the time I sat down in that cedar it was already only an hour and a half till sundown.  My late arrival, plus the fact that I’d probably created quite a (human) stink with the profuse sweating caused by my mad pursuit of the license undoubtedly loudly advertized, “Only slight caution needed - inept human in area.”

I sat there for about an hour and 20 minutes, once again reviewing my life’s history and trying to formulate a plan for whatever future I might have.  Then, in the gathering gloom, from directly behind my tree came the sharp blowing sound a deer makes when it sounds an alarm.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I froze.  (Actually, I’d already become quite chilled due to the sweat drying on my body – maybe that’s why my hair was behaving in this manner.)  But all to no avail.  That stupid deer was supposed to come along the trail beneath my tree.  Sneaking up behind just wasn’t fair.  The slight breeze had apparently given me away.

When it became clear that whatever had been watching my rear was gone, I slowly climbed down and made my way to my car.  As I raised the hammer so as to extricate the cap from the nipple I was more than a little surprised that there was no cap to extricate.  Apparently, by the time I was ready to begin the hunt, I was in such a lather that I pulled the weapon out of the back seat and just plain forgot to arm it! 

You’re an idiot, I said out loud to myself.  If a deer had been dumb enough to wander into your sights, you couldn’t have killed it anyway.  In fact, a whole herd of deer could have paraded beneath you with absolute impunity.

Did you get one, she asked at the office the next day.  No, I answered, almost curtly.

But she did, the next week, standing on the ground and letting a bunch of does go by so she could down a nice 5 point buck.  Sent me a picture of it via email.

No, I’m still deerless.  And the season is over.  Oh well, maybe next year.  That slogan works for baseball fans.  Why not for a hunter?