New Hunter Musing

I don’t know if I can really call myself a new hunter yet.  I have my license now. I’m tanning a squirrel hide in the master bathroom (that sentence was nearly the title of this post just to make you look).

But I haven’t shot a critter yet.  I assisted in the gutting and skinning of said squirrel.  Honestly, she was very nearly my kill.  I had her sighted in perfectly and was applying pressure to the trigger when she moved. Ah well.  Next time.  I have learned that grabbing a handful of still warm squirrel and ripping her flesh from her body does not make me squeamish.  I figure that counts towards my 2012 goal of becoming more intimately acquainted with my food. Also, good to know. I don’t really know what I’ll do with the squirrel pelt once it is tanned, but my husband knows a thing or two about stuff to do with leather, so I’m sure we’ll come up with something.  Really, I wanted to know more about the process.  That’s all a musing of its own.

Sitting in silence on a cold Saturday morning prior to sunrise is a good time to think.  Here I was wearing some Doc Marten work-boots with reinforced toes leaving plenty of room for the much needed toe warmers stuck to my Hello Kitty knee socks.  My boots just happen to be red patent leather.  Yeah, I even have fabulous shoes for tromping through the woods.   But I digress.

I wondered what me 10 years ago would of thought of me on that cold Saturday morning waiting for sunrise and the temp to break the freezing point.  You know, the me that had never shot a gun.  Didn’t own one or really know anything about them.  The animal lover.  Note: I am writing this while flanked by a rescued cat and a rescued dog.  When I was still young enough to go camping* with my parents, I often tried to pet the raccoons that would come up to eat the food we had set out for them.  I would dream about finding a baby as raising it as a pet.

I had the opportunity to feed a deer out of my hand.  It looked at me with its pretty brown eyes while licking the salt from my sweaty hands.  The idea of shooting an animal seemed barbaric.

And yet, there I was Saturday morning watching bait previously placed in an area where we scouted wild pig** activity. Freezing my ass off with a rifle in my lap. With every intention of ending the life of one of God’s creatures.

Funny how maturity and education changes you.  I’ve always been a meat eater.  I knew that animals died for my food.  Even cute, furry ones***. At some point, I realized it was awful hypocritical of me to eat meat and yet take issue with those that hunted. But it was harder for me to get to a point where I thought I could do it.

And then there was the rabbit.  You remember? The one eating my garden. Hey, we worked hard for those nutrients, we had to get them somehow.

Um.  Full stop? Is this coming from the same girl that only a few years prior was trying desperately to save 3 baby rabbits? Feeding them KMR and snuggling them on her belly to keep them warm? The same girl that cried the day we had to bury them because they didn’t survive?

Yep. And you know what? In some ways it feels like an act of worship.

It’s easy to take for granted the bounty God has provided for us when we fight the crowds for meat in cellophane and Styrofoam. For me anyway.  I am not feeling particularly thankful when I have to push past the lady dressed in size manatee spandex leggings (NOT PANTS). And really, must you people walk through the middle of the rows in the parking lot? I’d really rather not run you over, but it’s been a long day, you shouldn’t push it.

But in the bitter cold, out in the elements of raw creation, it’s hard to deny it.  Long before sunrise, a predator better equipped for the night and the woods was curious about us, and yet moved on to other things. That’s a good story, but I’ll leave it to EvylRobot. All I will say is that I’m glad I didn’t have to face it in the dark.

From our little spot in the trees, we watched the world awaken.  The stars faded and finally, the sun filtered in.  Unfortunately, it seems our piggies are not morning piggies, but that’s okay.  We’ve learned something for next time.  Sometimes God deems to bless us by saying no to what we ask for.  Also, we failed to take the time to ask before we started our hunt.

I still love all of God’s creatures.  I’ve realized that hunting them is anything but callous towards them.  Callous is ordering a basket of chicken wings without noting the lives lost for your meal.  In taking the time to study the habits of an animal before setting up in their habitat, you must respect them.  Their lives become very real. You are forced to recognize exactly where the bounty that God provides comes from.  In taking this step, I’ve learned to truly love and respect these creatures.

Even though this hunt did not net us any meat, it was not unsuccessful. The consolation pork shoulder I purchased later at the grocery store had a greater value.  Sure, it came from some pig on a farm living a life of luxury prior to harvest.  But I had just spent the day hoping to meet its wild brethren.  Brethren worthy of researching for weeks on end.  Potentially deadly brethren at that.  That can certainly change your perspective on things.

I don’t have a problem with people that only ever see meat as something from the store or restaurant.  I just think they are missing out.  My goal is about not missing out on the whole picture of our blessings.

*Camping as a kid meant my parents rented a cabin a state park.  We were roughing it because we didn’t have cable. 

**In the interest of full disclosure, I did have a friend that had one of those trendy pot-bellied pigs as a pet when we were kids.  It would stick its nasty snotty nose on everything. I hated that thing and wanted to kick it most of the time.  I think this may be the true origin of football.  

***When I mentioned to my mother that the garden rabbit was the first rabbit I’d ever eaten, she told me it was the first time I’d known I was eating rabbit.  Apparently, I’d had it often as a kid, but no one told me.  Explains why the flavor was so familiar and yet I couldn’t place it.  


“When I come around this corner, I want to be the only one with a gun in my hand!”

You know, I don’t really make it a habit of being in a situation where I hear the title of this post bellowed from the local sheriff’s mouth. Personally, when dealing with <insert locale>’s finest, I prefer that no one have a gun in their hand unless they just happen to be enjoying some recreational shooting alongside me.

So you’ll forgive me for not having the presence of mind to photograph said event. I was metaphorically kicking myself later.

I’m sure you’ve already read the events of the evening over at my husband’s blog.  If not, go now.  I’ll wait.

I really have to applaud the professionalism of the mumble County Sheriff’s department.  Here they were responding to 9-1-1 calls reporting gunshots in BFE (also known as meth country).  Upon arrival, they found a run down trailer with a couple of run down vehicles parked in front and no one to answer the front door.  And gun fire coming from the back yard. Thankfully, the pit bull welcoming party was in the trailer at the time.

I can’t really blame them for being a tad bit on edge.  Also, really glad I had just emptied my bladder prior to their arrival.  I’m not exactly accustomed to dealing with officers holding their side arms at low ready while shining a flashlight in my eyes. Damn those things are bright!

When they rounded the corner, they found all of us doing jazz hands in the sky and quickly holstered their weapons.  Whew!  They observed that not only had we dropped the weapons we’d been firing, but had them cleared with the actions open.  It was all the uniformed officer could do to keep from laughing a the whole situation.  It was pretty clear that was NOT was he was prepared to find.  He seemed relieved and rather tickled that he’d gotten all worked up over a family target practice session.

Me? It was all I could do to keep my internal dialogue from escaping my mouth.

Sheriff: I just want to go home tonight.

Internal voice 1: We want you to go home too.  

Internal voice 2: Doh! er..uh

Internal voice 1: We all want finish the evening with the same number of holes in our bodies as we started with.

Internal voice 2: Seriously? don’t say that.

Me (aloud): Yes sir.

BabyGirl’s mom has a less successful filter so internal voice 2 was also repeatedly attempting to project shut-up into her head. Clearly, I do not possess psychic powers.  Oh well.  She didn’t say anything that could have gotten us in trouble.  I just really didn’t want to have to back up her claim of us being “gun experts*” or them wanting a little more information on us having “lots of guns.”

In the end, they gave us their blessing and told us to enjoy the rest of our evening.  It was honestly kind of tempting to ask if they wanted to join our little shooting party for a bit of recreation. An hour of so later, my legs started to twitch from the adrenaline dump. I wonder how many more phone calls they had to field that night?

*experts? Hardly. I’ve shot with many people with far greater skill and knowledge than I, and only a few of them would consider themselves experts. We know enough to run them safely and responsibly and pass those skills on.

My Inner 4 Year Old is Satisfied

I shot a fire hose today.

Must be compensating or something

It was the adult that chose to do it in 4 inch heels.

My son is going to be so jealous.

About the fire hose part, not the shoes.


Field Trip!

The Weebot’s first field trip with the virtual school is today!  We’re going to the zoo to meet his classmates in real life.

So you may or may not get content today.  But you know, you can go check out my other half in his kilt.  Here he is Kilted at Choir Practice

Remember, this is for a good cause.


Oh the brilliance of today’s college students!

Direct quote from a resident luminary*

Last night, I learned about the French Revolution in my German History class.  I was all ‘What the Hell?!’  What does that have to do with Germany?

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something about a little invasion and a guy named Napoleon.  But she’ll never know.  She decided it was irrelevant and tuned him out.

The obvious question was asked. “What if it’s on the test?”

I don’t care if it’s on the test.  I’ll just tell him that it’s irrelevant and complain to the dean.


If she’s an example of the leaders of tomorrow, then we’re all screwed.

*actually a wealth of blog fodder there.  She needs a pseudonym for blog purposes.  Wouldn’t want to hurt the delicate flower’s feelings.  It would crush her artificially inflated self esteem.

Hey Matt Damon

Just sayin’

Thanks Weer’d!  You’ll have to click over there to see why Matt Damon is the subject of my mad picture editing skills.

Matt Damon is a perfect example of everything that is wrong with the education system.  And to the teachers out there that unlocked his creative potential-Do you still have those keys?  ‘Cause um, maybe you should put it back.