New Year's eve, 1998. 3 degrees, and I get in stand 3 hours before dark. I never saw a deer until 10 minutes left in the day, when 5 walk out in front of me, and the wind shifts, sending them into the next county. Grr.
3 minutes later, I look to my right, and here they come... a doe and a small buck, and if they keep the same path, they'll be in my shooting lane at about 12 feet. They continue on a steady pace, with the big doe in the lead. As she nears my lane she takes a quick couple steps, and I barely can put pressure on the string before she's past my opening. I'd rather taken the doe, but I wasn't picky at this point.
I turn my attention to the small buck, and he stops perfect in my lane. I'm only about 12 foot up in the tree, and the deer is only 12 feet from the base of it. I start to pull back, and the next thing I know, I've shot and he's running off.
I couldn't see the arrow fly as it went all so quick, and he ran in a half circle and stopped with his opposite shoulder towards me. I couldn't see my arrow on the ground or in him, and I thought I had missed. I didn't know how I could have, but I was slowly becoming convinced as he then put his head down, and continued to feed 60 yards from me.
Just when I was totally convinced I had missed, his back legs wobbled, and he fell to the earth. My shot was perfect, neatly puncturing the heart and both lungs, then lodging in his far shoulder. He literally never knew what hit him.
Forgive the picture, as it is a digital photo of a print, but it gives you the idea. I almost typed "although it was only a forkhorn, it was a trophy to me", but I know I don't need to qualify that to anyone on this site.
Thanks for letting me share.