The Great Hunter has returned from two consecutive four-day weekends of hunting Bambi, Bambi-less. He didn’t see this:
and not this:
and certainly not this (from two years ago):
I know he really wanted to “bring home the bacon” (well, the Bambi) but he said he didn’t even see any deer the last two days he hunted. He was disappointed and I was for him too. For me though, not so much. There is just something about deer meat that makes me sorta want to gag. I can cook with it when it is ground with a mixture of beef and I can eat it as deer sausage. Maybe it’s because I never ate deer meet growing up.
I don’t think my dad ever went deer hunting, but I know he went duck hunting because I have a photograph of him and two friends holding a string of ducks. He hunted squirrel too and I remember eating fried squirrel once (it tastes like chicken, lol.) But that was the extend of my exposure to wild meat.
So the Great Hunter informed me at dinner the other night that he intended to go hunting for a weekend in the middle of December. Who does that? Who has time in December to do anything but make preparations for Christmas? You have to first think of what you want to buy, decide how you want to buy it, buy it, wrap it, decorate the house and the tree (and in our case, redecorate the tree every night because the cats have knocked the ornaments on to the floor). You have to clean and even rearrange furniture and plan the food and cook the food and still have time to enjoy family outings and Christmas parties. Who has time to go hunting???? The Great Hunter was perplexed when I told him I didn’t want him to go. His response was “well, why not, Christmas isn’t for another ten days.”
I think he saw the error of his reasoning.