The Little Hunter

I felt it essential to renew the lost interest in our hunting expedition, which was coming up shortly. I keep a small pine box, with a colorful image of a nice buck on its cover, filled with calls of all sorts. As I opened the container her little eyes peered meticulously at each item. She looked to me for approval and I instructed her to choose one. Call after call I explained what each one was and how to use it. Before long the cabin was filled with the sounds of a forest alive of turkeys, deer, ducks, and geese. We experimented in the flickering dim light of the pine and hazelnut candles for hours before she made her choice of which call she would use for our hunting trip. I rigged a makeshift lanyard and she proudly walked around with her own call hanging loosely from her neck. We added a small pair of camo binoculars and over sized orange coat to complete her new ensemble. The thought of her walking through the cabin in her usually bouncing manner, tooting on that call, in that oversize coat, could make anyone smile.

On the eve of our hunt it became increasingly apparent that she was as excited as I for the dawn of our first days hunt. We watched numerous hunting shows while eating quadruple buttered popcorn. Every shot that rang out from the television produced an unscripted response as we marveled at the bucks folding into a heap. In each scene a larger buck was taken and we began to claim each as our own. “That’s my buck!” “There’s the one I’ll get!” “That one’s mine!” In any event it was shaping up to be a great day regardless if we took a deer or not and the morning couldn’t come soon enough.

I think we may have gotten 3, possibly 4, hours of sleep. I was tired but pumped up. She was tired and just realized that it would be pitch black as we walked to the blind. Her concern about the local bear population was only heightened when she realized that the woods were as black as the bears were and we probably wouldn’t see one until he opened his mouth and exposed those pearly white teeth. Although I never asked, I would assume that would be right before she imagined big Mr. Bear having us for breakfast. After a quick pep talk and about 100 “You’re safe with Daddy” speeches we were out the door. Her little hand nearly squeezed my fingertips to the bone all the way to the blind and it was a relief to finally get the feeling back in my trigger finger.

During the first hour we were treated to a number of does walking by and a few small bucks. We held tight to the promise of only taking a decent 6-point or better. My little hunter seemed in total awe that the animals walked by, sometimes so closely, without realizing we were there. I offered the comment that it must be due in part to the great job she had done hiding the blind on our initial visit. My comment was returned with a smile that quickly turned into a look of amazement as she peered through the opening if the front of the blind. I turned slowly and saw a wide 8-point with his nose to the ground making his way towards the natural shooting lane which stretched roughly 150 yards in length and 30 yards in width. I shouldered the gun and in one slow motion the little hunter covered her ears and watched. At 70 yards the buck stepped into the opening and I clicked the safety off after finding the deer in my scope. In the instant I was about to squeeze the trigger I noticed a glimpse of orange in the background just beyond our shooting lane. As the words “Oh my god” began to fall from my lips a shot rang out. Shards of wood and splinters filled the blind as another shot followed. I yelled to grab the hunter’s attention while clearing debris from my face and eyes in a desperate measure to check my daughter’s condition. She was visibly shaking, curled into the corner crying, but she was safe. I knelt to pick her up and her arms squeezed tight around my neck as I fell in pain with a tightness in my chest. The last thing I remember is a hunter in obvious shock standing outside the blind stammering through sentences and directions on a cell phone claiming that he had shot someone. The little hunter sitting in the corner with her face in her hands crying was my last vision before everything turned black….

…. Many years later a scene unfolds of a beautiful sunny day along a familiar riverbank. A mother and her son are ending a day of fishing by trying to catch crayfish. As the whistle of the ducks wings catch the young boys attention he stands and watches them fly out of sight towards the lake. His mother places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and with a tear in her eye, begins to explain.

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