Hunting with Dad - REVISED

David crouched on the forest floor next to his father. The woods turned as quiet as his fifth grade math class during a test, and time seemed to move just as slow. A leaf fell silently to the ground in front of him. He was barely aware of the sunshine filtering down through the thinning foliage. David held his breath. His father lifted the rifle. He watched as the doe's huffed white sisps into the cold Northern Wisconsin air. His family counted on the venison meat during the slim winter months. They needed this deer. As his father drew a bead on the beautiful doe, David remembered the conversation as they left for the cabin.

“Son, we’re not trophy hunters. I know you’re young and a 12-point buck would be great to hang on the wall. But you’ve got to understand. We do things the way we do for a reason. It’ll be two years before you are hunting with a gun, and I just want you to really understand the conservation idea and that we take only the meat we need.”

“Yes, sir,” David had mumbled. He knew that next year he would be able to carry “the stick” during the fall hunting season. It was a rite of passage that went back through the generations in his family. A boy would carry a stick as if it were a gun for one year to show that he knew how to handle a weapon, should one be put in his hands.

David went over the rules again in his head, “Never point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot. Only take the safety off when you are ready to shoot. Treat every gun as though it is loaded. Never shoot until and unless you have a clear shot. Do not shoot if another hunter is in the area – if you can see him, he’s too close. Carry your weapon pointing away from everyone in your party.”

His father’s breath came out long and slow. The doe overturned a rock with her front hoof and turned broadside to the two. David knew this was the moment they had waited for. He felt his miuscles tense.

The shot cracked. The doe fell where she stood. David let out a whoop and hugged his father, who hugged him back, picking him up off the ground.

The pair dragged the deer back through the underbrush to the cabin. David was proud to do more than his share of the dragging. After all, I’m going to be the one providing for my own family someday. He couldn’t hold back his broad smile as he beamed up at his father. The smoke from the wood burning stove inside the cabin told David he didn’t have far to go. He adjusted the weight of the doe and continued on. His dad reached back to grab the legs of the deer as David struggled.

“I’ve got ‘er, Dad.” He broke through the last of the brush and saw the small log cabin across a short patch of grass that had served as his father’s back yard when he was a kid. They passed the outhouse and dropped the deer under the towering maple tree, where they would gut and hang the deer.

“She’s pretty good sized, isn’t she, boy?” His father grinned down at him and ruffled his hat.

“Yes, Sir! “ David knew he was learning from the best hunter around. He watched his father’s every move very carefully each time they hunted. He would be the man of his own house someday, and he wanted to be ready to provide, just as his father always had.

David dropped the doe by the stately maple and followed his father to the cabin. He picked up an arm load of wood from the front porch on the way in. The heavy door creaked open under his father’s power. The inside of the cabin smelled of wood smoke and long shadows from the trees outside were cast on the opposite half-log wall. David imagined what it would be like to grow up here. He began to understand why his father said animals were his friends as a child. His father always said that is what made him a good hunter. He understood the animals and the patterns of their lives.

David turned to stoke up the fire. Once the camp coffee pot was hot again, his father poured two blue enamel cups of the steaming brew.

“I’m having coffee?”

“You really proved yourself this year, Dave. The way you sat patiently for hours waiting for that doe, the way you knew, instinctively, that she’d be coming out of that thick brush any minute and hushed. You’ve worked really hard this year.”

David could feel his face stretch into an unwavering grin. His hero had given him the greatest compliment he ever received.

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re still carrying the stick this year, but you’ve really proven that you’re ready to hunt. Drink up.” His father raised his cup and took a big swig.

David enjoyed this other rite of passage by adding four tablespoons of sugar to his camp mug. The fire crackled and David starred out the window as the leaves played on the breeze as they made their fall trek to the forest floor. They finished their coffee in silence, the company more important than the kill outside.

“Well,” David’s father started, “I guess it’s time to get this done, hey?”

“Yes, sir,” David said. His father always dressed the deer. It was boring for David… run and get a bowl. Get a garbage bag. Get this. Get that. But he was patient. He watched every knife slit his father made. He knew he had a lot to learn, but he also knew his time was coming.

David’s father pulled open the drawer of the oak cupboard near the door and took out an unfamiliar case. It wasn’t his father’s knife case. “Think this will work for you?”

David knew his jaw dropped as he opened the case and saw a shiny hunting knife with the black handle, but he couldn’t help himself. “Sir?”

“You’ve earned it, Son.” David’s father smiled. “You dress this one. I’ll help you if you need it, but this one is yours!”