This is the best place to tell this story.
Many of you know my husband. And those that don't, just pretend you do. He is hilarious on most days. He provides hours of endless entertainment for myself and our children.
We live on a spacious piece of land where my hubby has no less than 6 tree stands, two feeders and two game cameras. He's an avid deer hunter, if you get my point. He relishes in the hours he spends sitting this stuff up throughout the year on the hunt for the big buck. Big Daddy. Now, he didn't get the buck of all bucks. That's not my point. He has spent countless hours, sitting and sleeping, in his tree stands. Countless. This particular morning, last Saturday, he had spent about 4 hours. The hours are too many to count that he spends scanning through his some 500+ pictures tracking the exact hour that a big buck comes across his feeder. It never happens. Never. Last Saturday, he came home with his cousin, Matt. I knew by their expressions, it had not went well. Their heads were hung in shame. No buck. No doe. Not even a raccoon. It was horrible. Opening day of deer season was an epic fail for these two. I thought tears were going to fall. Gunshots were heard all morning throughout the valley, I thought it was one of them. I had hoped, anyway. Matt soon left to wallow in his own self pity, while Jason stood beside his truck, his trusty gun in his hands. Jason held the gun, wondering where they had went wrong. They had a plan and the plan was perfect. His buddy, Rocky, pulled in to ask directions to another deer camp. Jason looked up, across our backyard, in deep thought. His eyes widened in amazement - a buck was running, slowly, toward the creek. He saw horns. His trusty gun was in his hands already. His plan had aligned. He fired one shot and the buck was down! I thought him and Rocky were going to leap across the pasture. They found the buck only a few yards from where it fell and put the last final bullet in him.
Peace has been restored in my house.
