I came home around 5:15 p.m. to find the pick up truck of one of my husband's friends in the driveway. He was hunting.
Just before dark, there was a shot.
My husband called to alert me that his friend had shot our crippled deer. Pretty Boy was dead.
Don't go outside, he advised.
Unfortunately, I was on my way to town to run an errand that could not wait. As I went out to the car, I could see the truck headlights, next to the fence. Pretty Boy had been close by, near the house (though not too near). I felt a pang as I wondered if he'd been up here where he thought he was safe. The night was heavy with the coming darkness and the hint of rain, and I was sure I could smell the foul metallic scent of blood on the air. I scurried into my car and headed out.
Later, my husband said his friend told him the deer had been shot, "by some dumbass hunter" who went after a young buck. None of our hunters shoot young small antlered deer and we don't allow it, anyway. Bucks have to be a certain size to qualify for a shot, and Pretty Boy wasn't big enough.
Pretty Boy gave me much joy. I loved seeing him in the backyard, nose to the ground as he snarfed up acorns. I enjoyed our "talks" during warm summer nights. He was not a pet, but he was as close to having a pet as I have had in many years.
Farewell Pretty Boy. It'll be a long time before I name another deer.
How sad.
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry. Incidents like this are hard to see. Everytime I see a deceased animal on the road I send a little prayer hoping it is at peace and is ok now.
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