Open Season

I really don't know what it is about deer that makes grown men go a little bit crazy for about 10 days every fall - yet, it never fails. Nick starts salivating about the beginning of September and it carries right through November. Every weekend he makes the rounds between the motion sensitive cameras he posts all over the ranch to watch for any "monster bucks" that might wander into view. He'll spend hours sitting on a hilltop watching deer through his spotting scope. Why, you might ask? I have no idea - but it seems to make him happy.

This weekend was the opening of rifle hunting for deer in Nebraska. About the middle of the week hunters from Wisconsin, California, and West Virginia descended upon the Simmons Ranch, ripe with the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. For three days, they scouted, they set up tree stands, and deer blinds (if there is such a thing), they sat in pick-ups studying herds of deer off in the distance, and who knows what else.

Saturday morning started off early, with Nick waking up at 5:45a.m. to go out and put Gimli in the barn so he wouldn't run around and bother the hunters OR the deer. I had strict instructions to watch him at all times if I let him out, or to just bring him in the house (which I found amusing since Nick is very anti-dog-in-house on any normal occasion). A couple hours later, Nick came back in, flushed with excitement, and quietly called me to come to the back door. Apparently a "really big" deer had bedded down in the ravine close behind our house. Why was it important I know this? It seems that he wanted to be sure I didn't stomp around the house, start slamming doors, or spontaneously decide to take up a new hobby of playing bagpipes - lest I scare it away. Sheesh.