I Could Have Been Watching the Giants, But No—I’m Out in the Forest Freezing My Ass Off.

Recently, my neighbor invited me to go deer hunting. Here’s the thing: I'm Jewish. The only thing we hunt for is a good lean pastrami on rye with a Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda (a trope? Nahhh!) I could never kill an animal, even if it were to consume it afterwards. Oh, sure--I've run over a squirrel or two in my time, but did I stop to skin it, butcher it, roast it over an open fire with BBQ sauce with a side of fries? No. I’m not one of the Clampetts. Though I was tempted to purposely take out a flock of wild turkeys blocking the road on my way to work. Well, it was near Thanksgiving. 

I know animals must to die for us meat eaters to sustain ourselves (at this point I advise all vegetarians to skip to the last page where it says "The End”). After just one deer hunt, my neighbor has enough venison for an entire winter packed into his freezer. Me. I have a kitchen drawer packed with take-out menus (a trope? Nahhh!) When I shop in a supermarket I never give it a thought as to where the meat comes from. It's just there—packaged in styrofoam, wrapped in plastic. This makes it easier for the mind to comprehend. It’s my ideal concept of hunting. 

My neighbor kept trying to convince me to try it once. I resisted until he claimed my masculinity was at stake. Let me tell you, that got my testosterone pumping! So out I went to the local hunting store, coming home decked out with a camouflaged hunter's outfit, waterproof boots, gloves, backpack and a dozen packages of beef jerky. He supplied me with a rifle and bullets which made me extremely nervous even after his detailed safety lecture. Internally, I was shaking. Sure, I’ve shot BB guns as a kid, but this single bolt action rifle went “Boom!” not “Ping!” Strapping the deer’s dead carcass to the hood of his car was a revolting image going through my mind. A dead fly on my dashboard is enough to make me gag, so I certainly don’t treasure seeing a dead deer’s ass staring me in the face. 

We were on the road before dawn, traveling upstate to prime hunting grounds after eating a good breakfast. I had my Thermos filled with hot coffee, looking forward to my first ever bowel movement in the woods. I’m sure this would answer a lingering question bears have about humans. Actually, I never made it past the first rest stop on the NY State Thruway. Those bears will have to wait a little longer to have their question answered. 

After reaching our destination, we checked our gear, locked the car and hiked to his favorite hunting ground where we set up a hunting perch, halfway up a tree. I was hoping to get this hunt done with and home in time to catch the Giant’s game. The morning dew coated everything. Mist was lingering just a few feet off the ground. I felt cold to the bone and out of place like pineapple on a pizza. The wait was absolutely boring. The mist also hindered our view. After many hours, the boredom put me to sleep. No deer. With sunset only a few hours away we decided to pack it in and hike back to the car feeling relieved I didn’t shoot a deer. Though I was still upset I didn’t have to shit in the woods. 

On the way home, my neighbor asked me to drive his car as his eyes were tired from staring through his binoculars all day. I took over, immediately hitting a deer! It became lodged on the car’s hood ornament. Today, no one ever has one on their car, but he does.

Thankfully, I never shot a deer, yet my worst fear came true: its ass was staring me in the face. 

(Vegetarian’s may now resume reading).

THE END