It is unusual for a simple dog walk to turn into an adventure, even if that adventure is a micro-adventure. But it happened.
I'm done hunting for the calendar year, but that doesn't mean everyone else was. Ohio's deer gun season is split, with a week-long season near the beginning of December and a second weekend in the middle. In 2018, that second weekend was December 15 and 16. Late on the 16th, I was walking my dog about a mile away from home and late in the afternoon. As I was going up a hill, I heard a ferociously loud gunshot to the east and looking over saw an orange-clad dude fire a second shot. Immediately after this, I saw a doe and a buck running across the field in my direction. The doe was moving, with the buck trailing significantly. I watched the deer thinking, "That buck ain't right - he isn't hit well, but I'm quite sure he is hit."
The deer ran across the road right in front of me and made their way down to a brushy, swampy area on the edge of a field to the west. They milled around the area, with the doe leaving fairly soon. I continued to watch the buck, becoming more convinced by his body language that he was gut-shot.
I stood there for quite some time, watching the buck and waiting for the shooter (as this tale progresses, you may understand why I don't call him a hunter) to head in my direction. I never saw the shooter again. And I watched the buck for quite a while, slowly walking into a wooded area; I caught several glimpses of him as he continued walking. I wanted to help by pointing out where I saw the deer last and even thought about walking across the field. But walking around without orange on the last day of the gun-season just seemed like a very, very, very bad idea. At some point, I decided there was no point in waiting for the shooter, and continued on toward home.
The following day I had several errands to run. These errands involved deer feet, a bear hide and many rolls of coins - suffice to say it was already a bit of an odd day. I will also admit that pulling a box of deer feet from the trunk of someone else's car feels somewhat fetishistic - such is my life.
Later in the day, I was again walking my youngest dog in the area where I had seen the deer and was absolutely compelled to investigate that previous day's deer. I'm normally very conscientious about property rights, but less so for the train tracks and wasn't sure I would even move off of them ... very far. But as I walked down the tracks near the area I had seen the deer last, my dog pulled hard to the north and a manner that was a bit unusual. We continued into the woods for a bit, made a small circle around, and my dog led me right to the dead deer.
The deer was a pretty decent 9-point. Still young without much mass. But a decent deer. I had a hard time deciphering the bullet holes, but he was only gut/ass shot. And he smelled like a gut-shot deer; even with the cool temperature, the meat would be unusable at this point.
I pondered what to do. I kind of wanted the antlers and felt entitled, as I couldn't see how the shooter made even a tepid attempt to find the deer. But if the shooter was a young kid or something, the situation would be a little bit different, and I might even feel a bit bad for him.
On the way back home, I decided I should go to the farm where I thought the land was owned through and at least see if the shooter could be located.
Later in the day I did this and it turned out the shooter was from there (a relative who didn't live on the farm) and they had given up after seeing no blood. I talked with the farmer for quite some time - he said he would get some pictures of the deer and I could have the antlers after that. I asked how old the shooter was and the farmer thought for a few minutes, "twenty..." and my interpretation of the situation as well as any sympathy I may have had for the shooter's difficult situation evaporated.
The following day I stopped by the farm again after work to see if the farmer had found the deer. He had, but the shooter had taken it, "I told him he couldn't be bothered to look for it so he couldn't have it, but he took it anyway."
It was his deer - the story had grown so I did want the antlers, but it was his deer.
"Do you want horns?" (pet peeve - deer have antlers, not horns)
I do use them for projects at times.
"Well, I got a whole shelf of them that my wife made me get out of the garage. They've just been sitting there for years so they are yours if you want them."
What can I say, I ended up with a pile of antlers to use for wildlife-themed projects now. Some of these antlers are quite impressive - where are all these monster deer that I never see??? Yes - these ghosts show up on trail cameras all around the whitetail world ... at 2:00AM.
I'm quite troubled about the gut-shot buck. Sub-optimal hits will happen - I've had them. But two shit shots at a distance that didn't look that far? Yeah, I guess that can happen. Still, a hunter has a duty to expend all resources looking for the animal. Always! Even without my dog, I could have found the buck in a short amount of time. This was also the same buck I've seen several times through the fall and I was kind of rooting for him to make it through the season even if he was young and stupid.
And yet, there is still a silver lining - for me. The area I live in is very friendly, but talking to people about anything beyond the weather is unusual since people also tend to keep to themselves. Having a chance to meet a clearly-interesting farmer was a positive. He was also exceedingly generous to give me the antlers.
Earlier in December, I was starting to contemplate all the things I didn't do with my vacation as I had a bit more left to burn at the end of the year than I had planned for.
At the end of A Boy and His Dog, the dog's life is saved by "sustenance" provided by the boy (read the story, I won't go into details). My dogs have a lifetime of food so the parallels are basically non-existent. Adventure is what one makes of it: A boy and his dog (and a gut-shot deer).
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