Last Hunt

“My Daddy doesn't go deer hunting any more.”
I told my third grade classmate, to her astonishment.

The dairy farmers in our community looked forward all fall to going up north or to remote wild land that wasn't under cultivation.
That was the excitement of deer hunting season.
It was the one concocted vacation busy dairy farmers, who had to be on hand for milking morning and night, could break away from chores to take part in.

Anyone who had children old enough to do milking for a few days or a willing wife to take over his chores for a couple of days would organize into a hunting party and drive to the cabin or hunting shack to take part in their manly privilege of bringing home the game.
Mama would round up fabric, flour sacks and such, to dye and make up red over-jackets for the required red, visible hunting clothes.
Orders were given to the oldest children to do Dad's work for a few days and help Mama.

This year, Daddy finally felt his boys were big enough to take over their assigned jobs, so he could leave their own acres, which he had hunted up to now, and join his father-in-law and brothers-in-law and drive up to Spooner, where there was available hunting land.

A few days before the day of leaving for the hunting trip, Daddy went out into the woods behind their own pasture to test out his rifle.
Coming back to the house after a couple of hours, he exercised his droll humor and announced to the family that he had bagged a buck and a doe.“It's not hunting season yet!” the kids protested.
So Daddy's humor came into play.

“Well, actually squirrels are technically bucks and does.”
If you skin and dress them, you can have the tails.”
This, as well as packing, tucking away food Mama had prepared, and checking for any forgotten supplies, set the light-hearted tone for the hunting trip.
So, heading off in the '37 Ford, to pick up Grandpa and one of the uncles, the men headed for Spooner, sharing memories of former hunts and recent doings of the relatives they were about to see.

Arriving at the area where the hunt would take place, the group of men met and walked over the accessible part of the area to size up their positions and their assigned jobs, the drive, standing watch, etc, to be ready when morning would break on the opening of the season.
Morning brought new snow for tracking, and everyone got into their positions to be ready for the rising of the deer.

The first day, two of the brothers-in-law got their deer, and they all joined in to gut them and drag them to the car.
By that time it had grown dark, and they brought the two deer to the shack and hung them up in trees.
There was another jovial time of sharing hunting stories and munching the treats Mama and the aunts had prepared for them.

The order of position now changed for the second day.
So Daddy and his other brother-in-law proceeded to their agreed stand places and waited for the drivers to rustle out the deer for them to shoot.
It was all pretty quiet and slow until two or three deer plunged out of the brush and the other hunter shot several times, wounding a deer.

Daddy, not wanted a wounded deer running away, added his shot to it and brought it down dead.
A doe with a minor wound bounded away, and Daddy chased her, though realizing he had used most of his shells, thought he could finish her off.
He did shoot and hit her, but only making the wound worse.
He rushed toward her and fired, but his last bullet had been used.

Sick, that this poor deer was in terrible pain, he grabbed his hunting knife from the sheath and tackled her from behind, cutting her throat.
As her throat was slit, she cried out, like a calf or a baby's cry before she expired.

Affected by this series of events, like a person in shock, he proceeded to calmly prepare her to be dragged to the car.
His mind and his tender heart said, “Never again.”

Ready to slap him on the back and congratulate him for this amazing act, his brothers-in-law, surprised at his stony silence, followed suit and loaded the car to go back to the shack.

They all had their deer.
There was nothing to do but get them tagged and registered and pack up to go home.

I was so excited to see Daddy drive into the yard with the deer tied to his car.
My brothers ran out cheering.
I had the feeling that when my brothers came out cheering, Daddy was faking his thanks.
He cleaned the guns and put them away.

The next deer season rolled around.
Daddy did nothing to get ready, observed and directed as the two older sons practiced with his rifle, planned with their uncles to hunt, but Daddy's heart was not in it.
Mama was sick at the time, and, whatever hunting was done was initiated by my brothers

Daddy still hunted pheasants and ducks near our farm, but deer were not on his list of game.