The Hunting Story, Part Two

I was a most reluctant hunter, never having shot a rifle until three months’ earlier.  “We’re not leaving these woods until you shoot that gun.”   I mentioned passion; did I mention stubbornness?  I would’ve gotten around firing the rifle that day with anyone but Brent and when he retrieved the target, we were both a little shocked.  I was a damn good shot.  A year earlier, a friend of a friend had shot a deer and wasn’t going to make use of the meat.  It was offered to me on the condition that I help with the processing which my friends did at their home.  This was the deal:  “Help process, get meat.”  I had barely gotten through that experience without fainting -   what made me think I could actually kill a deer?   I agreed to the deal, having no idea that within a couple of months I would undergo major surgery and lose my job only days later. Unable to draw unemployment, I was without income for several months.  That venison went a long way in keeping me fed that winter, and not just literally, it kept me fed spiritually.  Thus I became willing to consider the notion that I might shoot my own deer for the next lean year.  I certainly had no trouble consuming the animal, maybe I should be willing to do the killing.  I started to feel compelled by something outside myself, or maybe it was some latent primal instinct that the venison had awakened within me.  Whatever it was, I didn’t understand it, didn’t really even want to honor it.  Still, I found myself following the call, being pulled into the mystery despite my reluctance and all the rational thinking I could throw its way.