Particularly mine...is never dull.
Went to the SRS draw hunt today with Dave and Hogan.
We all killed. Hogan smoked a monster. He will be sharing the story later, but I digress...
I decided to clean the deer at my club, and bring the dog...since I leave when it is dark, and get home after dark, it makes it difficult to keep him exercised and anti stir crazy.
I grab the rifle in the event I will have time to sit a stand with the little bit of daylight left.
Get to the club, let the dog out, and make him run beside me. Check the sign in board, one guy is signed out and my favorite stand hasnt been sat for a week. Decision made.
Long story short, I decided I wasn't done killing today. I just got mad at them. The scrub bucks I saw weren't chasing, and didnt have an iota of interest in any does. So, I shot a doe. Since she was right at the wood line, I didnt see where she went, and when I got my sight picture back, I saw a head pick up from where she was standing, so I shot again and saw white belly.
I go get the truck, (and the dog, remember him?). I drive down to get it as close to the kill spot as possible.
The heathen and I walk up to her, and she is a lot smaller than the one I shot. Like 40lbs smaller. Grass is thigh high on me, and shoulder high on the doe I shot, so I start doing circles. The heathen finds blood first and is smelling it like it is cocaine. 40 yards in the woods is the first doe I shot, with the heathen licking the bullet hole and going nuts.
I drag the big doe out. Put it beside the little doe and wonder what the fuck I was thinking, now that I had three deer to clean.
FFW to the second deer on the skinning rack.
It is dark. There is no 'lectricity. I am using a headlamp. It is a waning crescent moon. The goat, he starts growling and pacing stiff legged. Then, the woods lit up with yotes. I am not sure who's hair is standing up more, mine or the dog's...
I put the dog in the truck. I reload the shotgun and place it in a handy spot. I turn the head lamp up a few notches and keep on keeping on.
While suffering through the howls, yips, yaps, and the barking from the truck...I finish my work, take a trip to the gut pit and head on out...
Remember life with a dog, and how it is always interesting?
I get home, wore slap out, nerves are bad, pouring a drink to relax, and trying to make peace with the old lady. I tell her how good he picked up the blood trail and found a deer I "lost", and how proud I was of him...
Meanwhile, my heathen visits the water bowl...
In case you didnt know, my dog has a beard. He is kind of a fancy german wirehair and he flat out makes a mess when he drinks. Think of a mop on his chin...
I hear a shriek from the bathroom, then some cussing, then "murder scene" mixed in with "your fucking dog".
Apparently...my heathen liked blood so much, he really got into it via the gut bucket I would imagine. From there it dried, at least until he got home and got it wet then went running from the water bowl, to every part of the house, spraying blood on floors, walls, (I refused to look at the ceilings).
I got home two hours ago. I just cracked open my first beer, and finished drying the dog off. My back is sore from being bent over, scrubbing the hardwoods, the carpets, and the tile in the bathroom.
It seems life would be a whole lot easier without him...but I am ok with how it is now, as he sits on my right, curled up and barking in his dreams at those coyotes...
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