Monday, December 6, 2010

Passing the Buck

16. (Note: Today’s tale is an off topic follow-up to a prior post.),
The 2008 hunting season was unsuccessful. For the first time in years we had no venison in our freezer.  I volunteered to drive to the butcher’s and pick up a processed deer for a more fortunate hunting buddy.  Surely, he would take pity on me and toss me a steak or two for my trouble.
Martha accompanied me on the trip, a twelve mile highway excursion.  Halfway there, we watched as a car ahead of us swerved, then stopped on the shoulder.  The unfortunate driver had hit a deer.
I slowed as we passed the car, happy to see that the driver was uninjured. “Pull over” said Martha, “Let’s get the deer.”  “No” I replied, “We’re not prepared to do that.”
Then I heard the voice. It was unworldly, a Linda Blair from the Exorcist, frightening growl. “I…Want…Meat…” Martha was not to be ignored.  I took the next exit and navigated back to the site of the carnage. By now, a State Trooper was on the scene.  I got out and walked up to him. “If no one wants that deer, I’ll take it” I said. “Are you a hunter?” he asked. “Yes, just not a successful one” I replied.
I told the Trooper I would call the game commission and report a road kill, which seemed to satisfy him. The buck was killed by the collision, but looked undamaged, so I dragged the deer into the woods to field dressed it. The Trooper helped me hoist the buck into the trunk.  Before I left, I extracted a broken antler from the poor fellow’s radiator.
We finished our trip to the butcher’s, picked up my friend’s venison, and dropped off a fresh kill. I was happy that this deer would go in my freezer, and not go to waste by the side of the road.

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