Deer Season 2019, Part 2

A Day of Fear and Grappling.

As I said in Part 1, after tagging a six-pointer and a button buck, both of my firearms deer licenses were filled.  That meant no more hunting for the next several days, until rifle season ran out and bow season resumed.  No more hunting and no chance to take another deer.

Little did I know, the excitement was really about to begin.  You might even say…craziness.

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As I took both my deer to The Meat Shop, I looked forward to some good eating.  Burgers, steaks, chili…m-m-m-m-m.  Even as I berated myself for filling my tags so early in the season, I knew it would give me time to get better prepared for bow season.

I hooked a wagon to my four-wheeler and tossed in a folding chair, a machete, and a couple game cams I had changed batteries in and re-set with the proper date and time.  Driving the four-wheeler down through the field I followed one of the waterways as it angled east and south to form a pinch-point roughly the width of my longest comfortable crossbow shot.  I had watched dozens of deer over the weeks and months leading up to the season.  Many, many of them passed through that narrow gap as they foraged evenings and mornings. 

Some trees have grown up in the waterway over the last few years and I had come up with the idea of setting up a blind in them.  I might have to sit with my feet in the water from time to time but insulated rubber boots can help moderate that discomfort to some extent.

Grabbing the machete, I cut the smaller saplings down low enough to break up my outline yet allow me to shoot over them.  The man who farmed our land for the last several years had dumped some nice-sized logs into the waterway trying to slow the erosion.   A couple of them were in the exact spot I wanted to set up a blind and were pretty much the right height to provide me with a seat while I watched for deer.  I shouldn’t even need the chair I’d brought.

I attached one of my game cams to a tree where I’d be sitting and planned to install another across from it.  They would get photos and videos until I was ready to hunt and give me an idea what to watch and wait for.

As I was trimming the branches, suddenly there was a ruckus in the woods nearby.  Yipping and bawling told me coyotes had cornered a deer and were dragging him down.  Yes, coyotes have to eat too but, my problem with that is that it often takes their prey a long time to die.  I have come upon deer that had massive, un-survivable damage done to them as coyotes filled up on their flesh.  Yet, although they were suffering horribly, they were still alive, just waiting for death to ease their suffering.

Suddenly, more barking and growling added to the cacophony as my dogs, which had followed me out into the field, charged into the woods.  They attacked the coyotes and drove them off the deer.

I prepared to head up that way to intervene and, perhaps, save the deer, when the sound moved slowly through the woods.  My eyes were drawn to movement as the deer moved painfully out into the clear field.  What I saw would have sickened many people, although I’ve seen such sights so many times it didn’t turn my stomach.  Yes, I’ve seen similar things many times- too many, but my heart still goes out to suffering.

The little buck obviously had something seriously wrong with his right, hind leg.  I was on my four-wheeler by this time and drove closer to the poor animal.  He had been one of the four-pointers I’d seen on my game cam photos but he wasn’t any more.  His right antler was broken off close to his skull.  That, and the leg, told me a pretty clear story.

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I’ve told my readers in the past that the road in front of our house is very dangerous, with a blind “S-curve” uphill from our house.   The whole stretch uphill is a favorite crossing for deer going north or south and they often get hit by drivers who far exceed the speed limit, driving WAY too fast for the dangerous conditions.  I have had to put numerous deer out of their misery over the years after they have been hit by the thoughtless idiots and left to die.  I’ve also found numerous others that had been killed and left in the ditch.

I could tell you about the many dogs we’ve lost to the stupid people and the several times members of our family have been narrowly missed, often by people who didn’t even slow down!  Ah, but I would depart from my narrative about deer hunting and commence preaching about stupidity…and I shouldn’t, although I would really like to.  Idiots!

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The buck had clearly been hit by some vehicle but got off the road while they (the idiots!) drove away.  The obvious damage was numerous cuts and gashes that could have been from the collision or the coyotes, the broken antler, and the broken leg.  The bone was broken completely and stuck out several inches.  The expression, “compound fracture” falls way short of describing it.  The lower leg hung on by skin only and just flopped wildly around when the eight inches or so of protruding bone jammed into the ground when he tried to run away.

My first thought was, “I can’t let this poor fellow suffer like this, getting an infection from the horrible fracture that would gradually eat him away from inside.”  I really didn’t think he would last that long, as I was sure the coyotes would return as soon as my dogs and I went back to the house.  Death would still take a long time and include much suffering, but it would still be faster than dying from infection.

Nature just doesn’t care…but I do.

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The buck had jumped and flopped his way over to a ditch that transects the farm north to south.  He got into the thorny blackberry briars by the time I was able to get off the four-wheeler and grab him by his one, good antler.  He tried to fight but I was able to wrestle him to the ground and hold him down.

Now, maybe I’m not the sharpest knife in the box but it was only after I was trying to hold down a struggling deer that the question hit me, “How am I going to put him out of his misery?”  I tried to twist the buck’s head enough to break his neck, which would have meant instant death.  I twisted it around but, due to the thick masses of thorny briars around us, and the slick ground, I just couldn’t get any kind of leverage.  The poor animal stopped struggling but I just couldn’t finish the job.

I was adding to his suffering, not relieving it.

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My mind went to my pocket knife.  I always keep it razor sharp.  You never know when you are going to need a sharp knife to cut a piece of rope…or slit a deer’s neck, I suppose.

I fumbled in my pocket with my left hand while holding the poor buck down with my right.  I got the knife out and somehow managed to get it open with one hand. 

I was about to end the poor deer’s suffering.

Now, think of this.  I was wrestling with a wet deer in the wet weeds, trying to grip a smooth steel knife with no knuckle guard or anything.  I pushed the knife against the animal’s tough skin and the handle kept slipping in my hand.  I realized I stood a good chance of mingling my blood with that from the deer.

I could just see somebody discovering my bloody body lying in a pool of the buck’s blood.  No telling what the headline would be in the newspaper account.  “Man and Deer Die in Brutal Battle.”

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The knife was folded and slid back in my pocket as my mind raced trying to come up with another option.  If I tried to get to the house to retrieve a gun, the animal would probably get himself into the thickest blackberry briars and crawling in with him carrying a loaded pistol could be very unpleasant and dangerous, and trying to shoot the poor critter through the briars would be very difficult if not impossible.

Then I remembered the machete in the trailer behind my four-wheeler.

I know.  I know.  Right now, you’re having visions of me as some kind of machete-wielding serial killer, laughing maniacally as I dispatch my poor victim.  Well, if you are, just wait.  It gets worse.

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I released the gasping deer.  It was running out of life but could easily live several more hours, suffering from agonizing pain until it took its last breath.  A quick trip the few feet to the trailer and back and I stood over the animal, machete in hand.

Grabbing my unfortunate victim by its one remaining antler I pulled its head out straight and swung.  The machete cut deep but the animal wasn’t going to surrender without a fight.  It began to struggle – weakly yes, but it made it hard to get a good swing in.  The steel blade cut into an artery and blood sprayed out, splattering onto my face, hat, and clothes.  When I severed the spinal cord and the poor animal relaxed, I knew I had done my part in saving the animal from prolonged suffering.

But it hit me about then what the recent events must have looked like to someone who happened to see me over the brush.  They wouldn’t have been able to see the deer, but they could see a crazy blood-spattered man raising a machete dripping with gore over his head and driving it down before stopping and standing slowly, looking down, and saying, “I’m really sorry I had to do that.”

I swear, the laughter wasn’t maniacal. 

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I phoned my area conservation officer, Eric Huering, to report what had happened.  I described the injuries the deer had when I first saw it.  Eric agreed with my assessment that the unfortunate animal had been hit by some kind of motor vehicle and that I was right in putting it out of its misery.  He did ask for photographic proof to back up my claim so I went back and took a couple pictures showing the horribly broken leg and the severed head, which I’d put back in place for the photo.  I sent the one of the deer’s leg and Eric responded that it proved my story, so I didn’t send the photo of the decapitated corpse.

-LATER-

I have been formulating plans for a cabin I hope to build someday.  I want to give it a rustic feel, utilizing natural materials as much as I can.  What could be more rustic than using antlers for handles and knobs whenever possible.  With that in mind, my sons and I had picked up whatever shed antlers we could find, and skulls from some car-kills, but we also severed the heads of any bucks we harvested or found that had been killed by cars and, not knowing for sure if we would use just the antlers for handles, or if we’d make European mounts to decorate the cabin. 

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European mounts use all or part of the skull, cleaned and bleached, with the antlers.  It may sound a bit macabre but, believe me, they can be downright beautiful.

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Anyway, not knowing for sure if we were going to cut off the antlers or not, we had been throwing the heads up on top of an old tool cabinet in the barn.  Over the years of being protected from the weather, the heads had gotten mummified.

Even I have to admit that mummified deer heads look pretty creepy.  I checked with some Facebook pages I’ve joined while trying to get the word out about my blog.  The consensus among the people who answered my questions was that the best way to remove the flesh from animal heads, whether mummified or fresh, is to bury them, but trying not to get the antlers under the dirt to keep them from getting stained by the soil. 

Let the worms do the work for me.

I had kept the old bathtub when we remodeled the little house so I latched onto that as a good way to keep our well-fed but always willing to chew on dead stuff, dogs, from digging the heads up and gnawing them beyond use.  I figured this was as good a chance as any to finally do what I had planned so I grabbed a shovel and dug a hole about a foot deep.  Then I carefully arranged all the deer’s heads so that they would all fit under the tub, then shoveled a little soil over them.

As I covered the last skull and stepped back, I realized what I had in front of me.   I had just buried the remains of probably a dozen victims in a shallow grave.  At the same time, I was spattered in the blood from one I had killed and decapitated with a machete.  Yes, if a stranger happened upon the scene, I probably would have been reported as a crazed serial killer.

I had to laugh.  Yes, it might even have been just a little maniacal, but just a little.

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Addendum: As you may have noticed, I wrote this about a year ago.  At that time we didn’t know that we would be forced to sell the farm that had been in the family for almost half-a-century, and we didn’t know that we would buy Sweetwater, or that it would already have a cabin on it. 

With Sweetwater I have lots or work ahead of me, including remodeling, which may, indeed involve the tasteful use of antlers, skulls, and skins.

Now that I think about that last sentence, I may have not helped my argument that I am not a serial killer.

I’m not; I swear I’m not.

Happy Halloween!

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