OK, here it is.
My dad is now 75 years old, and has hunted since the beginning of time. The reason that he has only two deer to his credit, is that he is the worlds worst shot. He couldn't shoot his own foot if the barrel of the gun was resting on the top of his shoe.
My first year in the woods with Dad was in 1974. I was 14, and being raised in the inner city, I was street smart, but not very woods wise. I think that it was for this reason that Dad set me just over the hill from him when we got out that opening day, and told me not to wander anywhere.
Dad couldn't shoot worth a darn, but he sure could save a penny. He had two slugs left from a box that he had bought 20 years previously. He saw no reason to spend all that money on a new box of slugs, so he just took the two.
At 10:30 AM, Dad sat there with a partially loaded gun, and a fully loaded intestinal track. He couldn't wait Mother nature out any longer, so he walked a ways from his tree, leaned his gun against another tree, and exposed his most tender side to the north wind.
Sitting just over the hill, I was beginning to understand why Dad had never gotten a deer. There were none in the woods! I hadn't seen squat all morning, and decided to go see what Dad had been seeing. (ya kinda see where this is going don't ya).
I must have pushed the spike over Dads way, because just before I got there, I hear WHAM...WHAM...TOM!...TOM!.
I went running over the hill, and years of therapy won't wipe the sight that filled my eyes. There stood the ole man with his wool trousers bunched around his ankles. He was bending over trying to pull them up. Now I WAS seeing squat. The only thing that kept me from from running back in the direction that I came from, was the sight of that spike horn trying to get back up!
Dad got his pants up and shouted "I'm out of slugs!". I quickly ran over and put the deer down.
After making sure that the deer was dead, Dad said "stay here. I gotta go finish something". When he got back he said "This will be good experience for you."
He made me gut it out.
By time we left for home, he had regained his composure, and he began to spin his yarn.
His shot was only a 30 yarder, and his first slug hit the snow 10 yards in front of the deer. The second shot hit the spine.
He said "Yep, that buck was on the move and knew that the best way to stop him was to fire off the 1st shot and give hima startle, and that's exactly what he did, he stopped dead in his tracks. I knew that I only had one shot left, and it had to count, so I aimed right for the spine, and down he went".
I was green, but not that green. I also knew better than to tell the ole man that he was telling a whopper, so I spent weeks listening to the story getting better and better.
Dad's getting pretty old now, but he still likes to hunt. So, every year I 4 wheel him out to his spot on my brother inlaw's farm. I hunt a ways out of his shooting range, but where I can still see him.
Three years ago, we were hunting in a strong wind. I heard a shot, but wasn't sure if Dad fired it off. He wasn't waving or any thing, so I sat back down. A couple min. later, I can see him shuffeling out my way, and he looked pretty shook up. I waved him back, and my son and I ran over to him.
We all reached his deer at the same time. Here's this huge 10 point, grunting like a pig, and desperatly trying to get up. Yup, Dad had nailed another one in the spine. I said "Dad, shoot him!" At 15 yards, he drew down on the grunting buck, and cleanly missed. I pulled my 44 and finished the buck off.
I said "Wow Dad, what a buck". He was grinning ear to ear. I asked, "Were your pants up when you shot him?" He didn't find that to be as funny as my son and I did.
He made me gut it out.
All the kids pitched in together and had it mounted. Dad was too cheap to even consider spending that kind of money on a taxidermist. He was going to hang the antlers in the garage.
I'm so glad that we mounted it for him. It hangs straight across from his chair, and we often hear the story of how he shot it. That story no longer has much truth in it any more, so when he starts getting carried away, I start in on him. "Dad, you never killed a deer in your life". "Oh? What do you call that on the wall?" I say "I killed that with my 44 remember? Just like I killed that little spike in 74".
For an old man, he can still grab a hand full of beard in a hurry.
[This message has been edited by Tom222 (edited 12-02-2000).]
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