The Great Hunt of 2018

My much diminished blogging has me posting my first blog of the year when the year is almost over.

Another first in my life occurred over the last week. I went hunting for deer.  I had never before had a hunting license, much less gone out with the intention of killing some creature for meat.

Earlier this year my brother- and sister-in-law purchased some land down in southern Iowa, and for weeks he had told me I need to go get my license and a tag and come deer hunting with him.  I was already intending to take some time off for a family Christmas which just happened to coincide with the first half of the 2nd shotgun season here in Iowa.  The family gathering was cancelled for a variety of reasons, so it worked out well that I could go with him.

My first Great Hunt....or as I have learned this years tagline should be, "5 days of bonding, freezing my ass off, and no meat or trophy to show for it."

Day 1 was very exciting, partially due to this being a brand new experience for me, but also because that is the day we saw plenty of deer. Unfortunately for us the big push that came our way managed to pass through far enough away from our position for us to get a clean shot.  A little while later, my brother-in-law went to move the truck up towards the gate from the bottom of the property when luck struck.  I was positioned near the southeast corner of the property and witnessed our first fortune.  As he pulled up close, a young button buck invaded the property from the west. Mr. Buttons, as we called him, froze up.  Phil, however, did not. He popped from the truck, grab his gun and level it out over the opened door. At this point I had not seen the deer just inside the fence line. I followed the direction of his pointed gun and saw the deer standing there just staring at him. Then I heard the Boom and no more deer.  A shout of "Woo-Hoo!" came from Phil. Mere hours into our first day, and we were doing well.  Phil with his newest pal pictured below:

Day 2 found only 1 deer on the property, literally as it was jumping the fence to leave, and about 100 yards out, mooning Phil as she left.

Day 3, I went out on my own to some public hunting land near the metro.  Any other time of the year I could look out there and see plenty. I think they had been spooked over the past couple weeks of hunting and saw none.

Day 4, back to the property. Only 1 buck and a couple of does seen, none of them on the property.

I kicked myself for giving in to the cold. Had I waited another 10 to 15 minutes, that buck would literally have presented himself to me as a gift.  If only I would've just listened to my Uncle George's words of hunker down in one spot and wait to see if a deer or the end of the day comes first. I never did listen too well, and have a tendency to be impatient. This time it bit me in the ass.  I have spent the last couple weeks watching friends and family posting pictures from successful hunts, and I wanted so badly to be able to do the same.  I HATE, and I mean absolutely hate, not being successful at something the first time out.  I didn't care if I got some massive trophy buck or some small doe, I just wanted something worth taking a picture of while being able to fill my freezer with meat. Obviously, the arcade game Big Buck Hunter, where they present me with prey to shoot, is clearly more my speed, and completely different from the realities of being out in the countryside waiting on targets to come through.

I have received wishes of luck, reminders not to shoot myself or anyone else (especially my brother-in-law), and a few requests for deer meat from people who clearly had more faith in my hunting abilities than reality has shown.  I was told a few times not to get discouraged if I don't shoot anything.  I am frustrated, to say the least, and not looking forward to going back to work without having killed something. Discouraged, however, I am not. I intend to go out hunting again (and maybe listen to advice a little better), and hopefully have better outings where I will get to show off pictures of my own.

Terrorists Return!

Stupid bats! They set off an alarm at the Hoyt Sherman for the 2nd shift guy, then an hour later, they did it again, so I, along with supervisor Casey spent the first hour of my shift in that place chasing 1 bat, then 2...

They out flew our artillery, consisting of orange cones and a phone book. They took full advantage of the wide open air in the theater. Eventually they exhausted us and our timeline to be able to complete our other duties for the evening. We had to set the perimeter alarms to avoid being called back and wasting more time. We really should be allowed to use automatic firearms indoors. More accurate at a distance,and easier to propel the bullets than big ass cones and a floppy phonebook!

After an hour of being teased and dive-bombed, we had had enough for the evening. Maybe another night we'll get our shot at eliminating them before they decide to steal the limelight during one of the plays that are put on there.

Thanksgiving Message From The Colonel

From the Desk Of Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell:


So today we all gather together and give thanks for all that is good in our lives. Well, most of us. The majority of those living in the Mookified Compound have set out, meanwhile I'm stuck here guarding the compound with the General. That stupid idiot put out self pity messages complaining about only getting to eat a turkey pot pie for the holiday. Meanwhile, I get dry cat food...just like every other damn day of the year. The General may well find himself the victim of my combatives training later on today after he heats that pot pie up, then I can enjoy some delicious turkey meat. I'll let him try the cat food and tehn he can realize just how thankful he can be.

Personally, I'd be more thankful if I was President Obama. He pardoned that turkey, Courage, so that he can live out his days in Disney World. If I were El Presidente, that turkey would be dead, and I'd be burping feathers right about now. Who has time for cooking the bird when you can take him down right away and enjoy a nice meal without the wait?

But overall I'm thankful for my home. Its nice and warm here. And unlike my previous assignment guarding a garage with all my brothers and sisters where its cold, I can lounge about all I want. And, after making the general escort me to my mess hall, I can eat. With a belly full of food, I can return to napping, or shred everything in this apartment. It's great, because the General gets all mad, and yet, can't do a damn thing about it. I'm grateful that his rank doesn't come with any real power over me. Hell, that punk used to be a major. Once I made Colonel, he promoted himself to General just to not be outranked by me. How sad is that. Yeah, way to go Mr Top of the Food Chain!

So today, as you all give thanks for your food and football games, and begrudging your family your time, I shall be staking out the deck, looking for some fresh flying food, and maybe a nice squirrel or two. Little bastards run rampant around here, but I'm gonna get them one of these days.

So, you be sure and thank me for serving my duties here and suffering through dry cat food, while you're all safe and secure this holiday. As a cat and a colonel both, I DESERVE your damn appreciation for all I do for you. My mere existence should please you to no end. But if any one of you sonsabitches tries to pet me...I'll kill you.

Enjoy your day.

Sincerely,
Colonel B.S. Lovell
Mookified Feline Division, Commanding

The Night of the Jackalope

This is the end result of that long night.

When they say that prairie dogs have the plague, I thought it was a ruse to keep people from getting to close or from feeding the seemingly cute little rodents. Later, while exploring the Wind Caves, I found out that the original explorer of the caves died from a prairie dog bite. But then again, maybe that was a story made up by the family to protect his reputation as a hedonist who contracted a disease that finished him off....but you'll hear more reference to this picture as you read on.

It was our first night in South Dakota, as we camped in Wall, which as you know is home to the internationally famous Wall Drug Store (known for their free ice water and 5 cent cups of coffee...a great advertising ploy to bring in pioneer crossing the prairies 'back in the day').

After the wife and kids had fallen soundly asleep, I decided that I must go hunt down the rare nocturnal animal known as the Jackalope, a antlered rabbit said to be the true ancestor of our everyday bunny rabbits and the entirety of the deer family. Native to this region of the country, rarely are live ones found, or evidence of dead ones for that matter. Many joke that this is South Dakota's version of Snipe Hunting, the popular trick played on many unsuspecting teenagers by their jokester peers. But I assure you, the Jackalope is a very real animal, not some made up creature like the Unicorn, Kangaroos, or venomous ducks.

As I quietly exited the campgrounds on foot, and sneaked into the Badlands on foot (it was a quick 8 mile jaunt), my adventure as a world renowned outdoorsman had begun. I slinked like a cat on the prowl through the low brush just outside the canyons, carefully avoiding the herds of prairie dogs that inhabitated the area which would noisily announce my intrusion into their wild world and scare off any hopes of finding the elusive Jackalope. With night vision better than your average owl, I finally spotted on down in a draw leading to the desolate canyons ahead. Armed with a commando dagger and my Jackalope Special (a .29 caliber handgun designed specifically for taking down jackalopes---oh shut up, a .29 does TOO exist, haters!), I crept up on the unsuspecting creature, careful to stay upwind so as not to startle him and his hypersensitive scent detectors. Breathing slow and shallow I got to within 10 meters of this beast. Surely, as a trained marksman from the U.S. Army, this would be an easy kill. My ignorance lies in the fact that a Jackalope can also hear faster than the speed of sound. Before the bullet even left the barrel of weapon, the Jackalope perched up looking for the source of the noise he heard. I hit him, but instead of being a clean shot through the heart, I had merely gutshot this beautiful specimen. He dropped down onto his side, mortally wounded but not yet dead. I moved in on him to finish him off.

Just as I was about to grab his antlers in an attempt to break his neck, I slipped in the puddle of blood that lie next to him. Wide-eyed, the jackalope went into survival mode, and thrashed about violently. Before I realized it, I had been gored in the face on each cheek by the tips of his antler prongs. I had wanted not only meat, but to have his bust mounted on my wall. Now I found myself in a situation I had clearly not planned on. We were locked in a battle to the death. Surely he would die from his wounds, but would he take me with him as well? We tussled for the next few minutes, each trying to gain the upperhand. This jackalope, pound for pound, was by far one of the strongest animals I had ever engaged in battle. I thought about the old days, and how much easier a large bison was taken down by my hands, now bloodied by my new foe.

The jackalope reared up, and dropped his head, preparing to deliver a strong and possibly fatal blow with his antlers. I rolled away just in time, and found my sidearm nearby where I dropped it in the grass while slipping in his blood. God, my face was throbbing in pain from the initial impaling. I quickly grabbed the .29, did another roll to get the right angle, and finished the fight with a single bullet exploding the jackalope's face before my very eyes. Finally, the battle was over. My face was on fire, every muscle in my body ached from the close quarters combat, and now the prized 4 point jackalope was mine. However, given the face shot I would have no bust to hang up over my den's doorway. Then suddenly a new bit of knowledge showed itself to me. As the jackalope lay there dead, its antlers disintegrated into a fine dust and disappeared completely. No wonder there has never been a confirmed jackalope corpse found. The myth and folklore live on, but this very night I had been shown the truth.

I quickly pulled out my field medical kit to fix up my wounds. My face was puffing out quickly. After doing some antiquated medical tests (far too complicated to get into here), and the sight of a dead prairie dog not 5 feet from where I sat, I realized that the jackalope's antlers had been coated in plague-ridden prairie dog blood. Time was not on my side. However, in preparation for this excursion, I had consulted an old Indian Medicine Man, who had given me a concoction that he said would stave off the plague (who knew they were that advanced in the medical community?) should I ever fall victim to it. I'm so glad that I had planned that far ahead for my hunting expedition. I immediately applied the course and grainy balm to my wounds. They still don't look well, which is why I did not take a picture of my face for this blog, but I am alive to tell the story.

Luckily for me, the body of the jackalope doesn't fade into dust like the antlers. The next morning I went in tot he trading post, and found a Swede who render's meat, and he was able to produce the sausage log you see in the picture above. I have enjoyed the majority of it the day after we returned home, however some still remains, as my wife chastised me for hogging it all and wished to have some left for her to eat as well.