Today my husband and his friend went blasting as my husband's friend likes to call hunting. I like the term blasting because it really conveys what is being done in the woods. Over the years, my husband and his blasting friend and other hunting-type buddies have gone out in late November and into December to do this activity. It seems to be more of a bonding time for them because the deer are smarter than the blasters. One year, my husband came so close to getting Bambi, but closeness only counts in horseshoes as the saying goes. The deer literally jumped over him and he missed. There is something psychological about why he missed. When he was 14 or so, he accidentally shot the tooth out of a dog of one of his cousin's friend's dogs. The dog was helping them track down armadillos. When aiming for the armadillo, the dog somehow got the shot. Mind you, his shot wasn't deadly to the dog, he just managed to get one of it's teeth. I'd call that pretty good shooting. It has left such a deep-seated impression on my husband that the deer have nothing to fear.
This year, my husband has gone blasting several times. Tomorrow is the beginning of doe season through sometime in early January. He plans to go blasting at least one more time. He will dress up in wool and layers. He will take his folding stool to wait patiently for a doe to leap by. He will take several packets of "Hotties" so his toes and hands will stay warm for about 8 hours. He will have his cell phone to make contact with the other blasting guys. He may or may not bring home a deer. If he does happen to get over his traumatic experience of 42 years ago and bring home a large animal with a light brown coat and big eyes, then we will have to make space in our backyard for her, because I guarantee she will be alive and well. Oh deer!