Modern Hunt

Boots crushing frosted grass-blades, sun still an ember to the east, clad head-to-toe in blaze orange as I climb into the tree stand. Strap myself in, high on this perch, gaze over misty fields, half-cut, nothing out yet but birds, squirrels, background chittering for music. Two long hours of dull silence, read my book to try and pass time, then a dun, brown shape…a doe! shift my rifle upwards and scan. There, stepping out, addled with lust, a buck, not a young one either, with loose skin and knobby antlers, trots slowly after the young doe. I pick up my call, make a bleat, buck’s head shoots up and glare towards me, put my sites behind the shoulder, pull back until the gun speaks, loud. He jolts, and sprints ten seconds, falls, the does takes off for the woods. Deep breaths to calm my pounding chest, field falls quiet once again. My freezer will be full this year, no factory farms or hormones, wild-caught meat for the family, some choice cuts, the rest to grind. Climb down to start the messy part.