Last Saturday morning found me fifteen feet up in a treestand.  And though I wasn’t exactly sure at the time, it was the only time I would be able to hunt the entire weekend.

After a few hours in stand, my phone started to ring.  Not knowing who could be on the other end, I made the necessary movements to answer the phone, only for it to be Jeff telling me that a few does were headed my way.  As he conveyed the information to me over the phone, and as I turned to look behind the stand, two of the does already had me in view and decided it was time to head the other way.

Thanks, Jeff.  And that is pretty much the story of my hunting life lately.

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While Jeff was sitting in the midst of some chasing action this morning, and while the weather has been perfect for hunting, Arthur’s hunting is on hold.  Quite honestly, it’s hard for me to even think about hunting.

Last Tuesday, the 18th, our second edition to the family, who wasn’t supposed to arrive until December 5th, made her grand entrance six weeks early.

Little Mia is doing well, though she’s still sitting in an intensive unit in a local hospital.  She’s improving every day, and we hope to have her home soon, but – until then – my hunting time will be spent driving back and forth to the hospital, and spending time with her big sister.

I may be able to sneak out for a few morning hunts this weekend, but it all depends.   It just depends on how things go this week, and on whether I need to catch up on any sleep.

And I’m totally not complaining about not being able to hunt, so please don’t think that.  At this point in time, I’m thankful that Mia and mommy are doing well, and thanking God every day for watching over Mia as she continues her journey for home.

Hunting will just have to wait – and I’m completely fine with that.

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It was inevitable, really.  Growing up in this family, it was only a matter of time before it happened; yet I was still surprised by the question.  She looked me right in the eye and asked, “Can I go hunting with you, daddy?”

Though I knew this day would come, I honestly didn’t think it would come so soon.  I obviously didn’t discourage her though, and told her I would love for her to go hunting with me; told her that she could go out in the woods with me, sit and watch for deer with me, eat snacks with me, and talk with me about whatever she wanted to.  I told her about how we could spend time together, about the animals we’d see, and about how much fun we’d have.

It was a great moment, because I think she was genuinely interested.

As I walked out the door that morning, and was met by the early morning breeze, thoughts of hunting smacked me right in the face, so I casually mentioned it to her as we headed to the car.  But she didn’t ask the question until about ten minutes later; she must’ve really been processing my observation from earlier, and it just took time for the question to come.  She was genuinely curious about the whole hunting process, and that was music to my ears.

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Whenever she’s asked, I’ve never tried to hide it from her – I’ve always been very up front and honest about where her food comes from.  I didn’t lie to her when she asked about the cute, little, dead bunny on the cover of the NRA American Hunter magazine, and I’ve always been  honest with her when it comes to the origination of her food – whether it’s chicken nuggets from McDonald’s, or cheese inside her quesadilla, I’ve always been open, direct and straight-forward.

On the other side of that, I’ve always been very open with her about hunting, too.  She knows that we kill deer and turkeys, and that they then become food.  I’ve never tried to shelter her from anything just because it involves a dead animal, and we’ve never sugar coated the hunting experience when discussing it with her either; we just really want her to be aware of the entire hunting process, and how it ultimately provides food for the table.

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It was probably the toughest decision she’s had to make in her short two-year-old life – would it be the Spongebob or the Tinkerbell fishing pole?  I questioned her quite a few times, both in and out of the store, because I wanted her to be sure, and without wavering one bit, she picked the SpongeBob pole again and again.  I was quite shocked, since I thought she’d go with the Tinkerbell pole hands-down, but she had made her decision and there was no turning back.  And since mommy was heading to the store anyway, I asked her to pick up the pole in preparation for an evening trip to Papa and Grandma’s pond.

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