People say nothing changes but that’s
not true. In the past twenty years one
thing that’s changed a whole lot is the number of women who hunt. That just wasn’t the case in the past, even
during the liberalizing sixties; but these days I know about as many female
hunters as I do males and just about every one of them can go in her purse,
pull out her cell phone and bring up a picture of herself with a big buck she
brought down. I’m not surprised by
it. Not at all; it’s just something that’s
changed over the past couple of decades so it’s just as easy during deer season
to get into a conversation with a woman who has the gear, is experienced in
handling a high powered rifle and knows how to relieve herself in the
woods. Can’t hunt if you can’t do that
can you?
Now the lovely Ms. Gina Goad is one
of those women I know who has taken up hunting and has no problem devouring
Bambi after she’s shot, field dressed and skinned out Disney’s sweet little
fawn. She got one on her very first
outing. When she drove the truck, and
hunters have to drive trucks, she pulled out into an open field to check things
out. Right off the bat she saw something
bright orange up about fourteen feet in a big old tree. She drove right on in for a closer look and
sure enough it was a hunter. Luckily for
her it wasn’t another lady hunter because this old gent didn’t seem to mind
that Gina stopped by to say hello and ask how his luck was going. He just climbed down out of his tree and
offered his stand to Gina her novice spitting technique and the scent of Chanel
No. 4 that this was probably her first time deer hunting. And, she brought her father along in case she
needed a little coaching and moral support.
She is a young woman of rather high moral standards; but that doesn’t
mean she was going to have any problem splattering Bambi’s sweet little heart out
of her furry little chest and all across the meadow where sweet birdies sand
and happy little squirrels scampered about in the tree tops.
Gina thanked the old gentleman. She’d already picked up a lot of hunting
etiquette since driving the big Ford 150 into the field. So up the tree she went, locked, loaded and
just waiting for the action to begin.
And it wasn’t long before it did.
About four or five minutes after her father returned to the truck to
wait while his little princess sat up a tree waiting to squeeze off a round or
two from the hundred and seventy four shot magazine of her new thirty-ought-six-high-powered-double-barreled-Soviet-issue-Kalachnikov,
up strolled Bambi’s baby brother, Button Buck Bobby. Chiuc-pbloomwle spittle, spittle, spittle was
the sound she described her weapon mading as it discharged it’s lethal hollow
point armor penetrating hot lead into little Button Buck Bobby’s spine just
after he winked at her and wagged his little white tail inviting her to join
him for a little romp and frolic. “He
was just asking for it,” is the way she puts it when she tells how she dropped little
Bobby to the cold hard ground amidst the golden beams of sunshine he’d been
enjoying as they flickered and sparkled passing through the red and gold autumn
leaves of the tree in which his unexpected executioner hunkered in the shadows.
Of course, with a brilliantly
placed spinal shot she dropped little Bobby where he stood; and as she looked down
at his broken body she could see no movement, not so much as a twitch from his
collapsed hind quarters. His little
front legs, however, were beating all hell trying get away from the fate he
must have now feared awaited him.
“Eeewww! Ohhhh! Aaawww make him
stop Daddy,” she cried out as little Button Buck Bobby cried out now
desperately trying to get his paralyzed hind legs to move. “Ohh, make it stop, make him stop doing
that. I can’t watch, I can’t watch!,”
Gina pleaded with her dad who was now walking over to the downed deer to put
him out of his misery. He aimed his own
weapon to end the struggle quickly with one shot to the head. Blam!.
His weapon fired; but he missed.
Well, not entirely. He put a big
hole though Bobby’s left ear more than adequately piercing it for any sort of
jewelry Gina might consider hanging on it were she decide to have the head mounted
and displayed.
“Oh, eeeww, no, oh that worse,” she
cried out from up in her tree. He father
shot again, this time dispatching Bambi’s frantic little brother and popping
his eyes right out of their sockets.
“Oh, eewweee, oh, now I can’t take
a picture with him because his eyes are all hanging out and still looking at
me. With just one finger her dad quickly
pushed the slippery eyeballs back in the head just like he was an old hand who’d
done so many times before. Maybe he had,
who’s to say. But now Gina has a picture
on her cell phone and if she invites you over for dinner chances are pretty
good you’re going to get a nice piece of little Button Buck Bobby and a bowl of
chocolate cake batter for desert.
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