if it's brown, it's down

as of sat nite, pennsylvania's deer pop is one doe less, thanks to D.

he bagged it with a long bow right before dusk, when deer were venturing out in unusual numbers prompted by the canadian front rolling down from the hinterland.

when he shot her, the doe was quartering away, a perfect angle for hitting the vitals, and he was certain that if it wasn't a double-lung shot it was at least a single. a double-lung is ideal because the animal dies quickly, without any of the mess you get into if you puncture other internal organs like the stomach.

when shot in such a way, a deer will run, which is why you sit in your tree-stand for 30min to an hour before you get out to look for it. if pressured the deer will continue to flee, when you -- and it -- want it to follow its natural inclination and lie down to sleep.

so from his stand D watched the deer run 50yds then pause by the creek. her legs weren't wobbling yet, but he could see where his arrow lay on the ground below, having passed completely through her. it WAS a good shot, he told himself, she just needed to bed down in peace.

which is when the buck came. a little spike buck emerged from the undergrowth on the other side of the creek, saw the doe and crossed over, then began - as D said - "messing with her." as he tried to mount D's doe, he kept driving her up the creek and pressing her through thickets D said later he had to crawl on his belly to get through.

- oh that is just horrible - i exclaimed as he described what he'd seen, imagining the doe in distress, not understanding why she felt like this and why it was so hard to breathe and wanting to just lie down but she couldn't because this asshole was fucking around with her.

D was sympathetic, and puzzled.

- yeah, i don't know why. i mean, the rut is over, so i don't know what he was thinking. because during the rut, you know, they get crazy. in one of my hunting videos there's this doe who got shot and a buck was mating with her even though she's dead. the pheromones are that strong.
- i didn't need to know that - i told him.
- why? it's life. and you eat them.
- i do, but i couldn't kill one. i know they're overpopulated and what you're doing is, in the big picture, a good thing, but i could never do it.
- just like the cats. though you talk about it, you couldn't actually kill any of them.
- hrrrrr... - i prevaricated.
i'm pretty sure i couldwouldshould if i didn't think it'd put me on St. Francis' shit list and he'd drop me from his Friends on MySpace and then where would i be.

D found his doe sunday morning after 2 hours of tracking blood drops. she'd wandered about 300yds from where he hit her, then died mid-stride, he figures, as her legs were splayed, not curled to sleep. as he suspected, it was a single lung shot that also clipped the esophagus, explaining the green particulate on the body of the arrow. he saved the heart and is talking about preparing it for the game dinner this weekend. this time next week i may be back on the jameson.