In a Sow’s Ear 11-9-09 |

In a Sow’s Ear 11-9-09

Hunting season is again upon the land. Over the plains, in the mountains, along the creeks and river bottoms comes the sound of whizzzzzzzz-THUNK!

That’s if you’re bow-hunting. Most women leave hunting the wily wild animals to the men, but there are those gals who have huntress blood coursing through their systems. Such is the case with Kassidy.

This year, her husband Milo, an equally passionate hunter, gave her a gift of a huntress bow and arrow. You can tell it is a huntress bow, not hunter because the bow string is pink.

Kassidy practiced. And practiced. The great day came. To the mountains she and Milo trekked. Snow lay deep. For two hours they tracked tracks and finally, a deer, nicely fleshed out, crossed Kassidy’s path. She held her breath, nocked an arrow, drew the bow string. Tension built. She stood, a goddess profiled against an apron of white snow back-grounded by winter-green pine trees. (National Geographic photographers shoulda been there).

The doe flicked an ear, staring at the creature in the orange vest. Kassidy loosed her arrow. It zinged in the correct arc. It winged toward the deer with deadly intent. It missed. The doe flagged her tail and darted in among the pines. Kassidy stood transfixed for several moments. Sometimes, it’s difficult to assimilate a disappointment instantly. Like pouring soured milk on cereal. The bad taste lingers.

“Dang it,” Kassidy muttered. (Well, she didn’t exactly mutter and she didn’t exactly say dang it, but this is a family column). She made an executive decision that she did NOT like bow-hunting. With a rifle, she knew she could bring down a game animal. Really, Robin Hood and his Merry Men could have these bow and arrow thing-a-ma-jigs.

Still muttering, Kassidy started over the brow of a low hill looking for her spouse. She intended to make a dramatic announcement that she was hereby resigning from bow-hunting. It must have been her low-pitched grumbling and grousing that did it, because 40 yards ahead, a big honkin’ wild turkey strutted into view. It answered.

“Gobble,” it said.

“Wow,” murmured Kassidy and nocked an arrow. She aimed. She released the bow string. The arrow flew, flew, flew and actually pinned Mr. Turkey to the ground. Kassidy leaped for joy which wasn’t much of a leap as she stood in a couple feet of snow. But she slogged happily forward only to see Sir Turkey, arrow in its body, stagger off and disappear under a bush. Kassidy knew that bird had to be dead! Had to be!

Kassidy, already ticked off at having missed the doe, was not about to let a mere turkey get away. Picture a swimmer swan-diving off a board and you’ll get an idea of Kassidy diving into that bush. She met the turkey and … she wrung its neck. That was a really dead bird.

She backed out of the bushes, dragging the turkey with her, rose to her feet and looked about for husband, Milo. This was brag time. Kassidy left the bird lying next to the bush, but did take the precaution of ordering it to “Stay.”

She located Milo. “I got a turkey at 40 yards,” she boasted.

“No way,” said Milo.

Kassidy insisted hubby accompany her to view the scene. Milo measured the distance from where Kassidy had loosed her arrow toward tom turkey.

“Forty-three yards,” said Milo. “Woman, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, dear, it’s just one of my many womanly talents.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Kassidy came to enjoy bow-hunting.


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