Shooting a Pair of Deer

You were thinking something else, eh? This is to balance out some of the Dead Bambi/HeapBigHunter pics we tend to see published around these here parts, from time to time. This is how I shoot deer....

I was just driving along when I spotted a group of five or six deer, grazing near an overgrown pond on the outskirts of town. I happened to have my camera with me (I calls 'er "Betty," but you can call 'er... "Betty.")and the 70-300mm lens attached, so I pulled over as quietly and quickly as possible, though at least two of them kept eyes on me. I didn't have time to mess around with settings, so I just left the camera on Program, popped the lens out to its furthest reach, and started firing away.

This is easily the best shot of the group, as the deer kept some distance between themselves (not to mention, away from me) and moved around quite a bit. These two had their heads down grazing, quite still and relaxed, so I did an experiment and discovered: the "kissy noise" works on deer! As soon as I got this pic, these two separated.

I squeezed off maybe 7 pics before they all bolted toward then melted into the tree line. Little did they know that this is one well-armed redneck around whom they are infinitely safe.

OOOOH! Heap, Big Hunter, You’s a MAY-UHN....

I don’t really mind deer hunting all that much. In fact, if it came down to a question of survival between me and Bambi…sorry ‘bout yer spot in the food chain, l’il buddy, but I have opposable thumbs and good aim. I appreciate the skill necessary. I even understand deer overpopulation is a huge problem for people and deer alike, so responsible, ethical hunting is necessary and good. ….

But…

I have had it up to my over-developed Id with all the bragging, status updates, front page newspaper pics, etc. about the big buck that just got itself bagged. Ever had the uncomfortable “Where meat comes from” discussion with a 6 year-old when they realize beef = cow? Now imagine a similar convo when your soft-hearted kiddo (and almost all of them are) sees Bambi’s mommy field dressed in the back of a blood-drenched, seeping pickup, tongue awkwardly drifting out of the mouth as you wait behind it for a McD’s Happy Meal…or when a smiley bohunk poses next to Dancer on the front page of your local daily.

For fuck’s sake, here’s what your *aherm* “accomplishment” as heap-big hunter tells me about you: you’ve spent hundreds - if not thousands - of dollars on equipment, then waited hours and hours hidden way up a tree (usually) in freezing weather at 5am (or earlier) to wait for something that has a brain the size of a child’s fist to just wander on by….

Bra-fucking-VO!

Meanwhile, I can go to the store and buy food. Ya won’t see me with veggie burgers tied to my hood or a gallon of milk mounted and displayed on my wall….