Have you ever wanted something to be a certain way so badly that you tried to will it into being? I wanted to find a buckshot wound so very much, I went over that buck with a fine toothed comb from hoof to horn, yet no evidence of any gunshot wound was to be found. Finally accepting that grandpa had just missed, I gave up and began to admire the buck. Fat and healthy, his shiny coat gleamed in the morning light. I carefully examined his rack. 8 points, almost perfectly symmetrical and about 15 inches wide, he was simply beautiful. It was a fine and memorable morning indeed, yet a touch of disappointment lingered. Grandpa would be thrilled I got the buck, but deep down, I wished it had been him. After field dressing the buck, I left him laying there and began to work my way to Grandpa. There was only a couple of hundred yards between us now. As I slowly picked my way through the woods, the mornings events ran through my mind. What a glorious blessing to be afield with my grandfather in pursuit of game. Even had not a single deer been seen, it would all be worth the effort. I once again became keenly aware that these hunts with grandpa could not go on forever. A tear came to my eye. I had now reached the ridge where I would signal to Grandpa. Before I let out the location whistle, I made myself a vow to thank God for every opportunity to go afield with the old man just over the ridge. My Bob White was answered immediately with another from over the ridge. This meant no deer were present and all was clear to come on in. Had there been a deer or something in front of him, his answer would have been the hen call of the Quail. Sounds kinda like “O wee a hoo”. I eased over the ridge and was immediately greeted with the sweet smell of Grandpa’s pipe. Never smoked myself, but always loved that sweet smell. The old man sat on a downed tree puffing on his pipe contentedly and watching me approach. You could see the quiet joy in him. The old shotgun was laid across the tree by his side with the action open. I walked up and told him that while he had missed the deer, I had gotten the buck as he fled. One eyebrow slowly lifted and a wry smile crossed his lips. He stared at me for a long second with wizened eyes and said, “Boy, I ain’t seen but one deer, and he’s laying right over there.” He made a pointing gesture with his pipe. Glaring intently, it took me a few seconds to see the massive set of horns sticking up in the brush about 60 yards away......
Topic: An old mans trust (Read 4862 times)
