“Eighteen point Abby.” That’s what we’ve been calling our daughter. After dutifully taking the hunter safety course offered last spring, my girl (according to Michigan’s DNR) officially became a full-fledged hunter. She may have been more excited to get her first hunting license than she was to get her first American Girl doll.
She hung it on the refrigerator, looking at it every so often, counting the months, weeks, and then days to the fall youth hunt. September arrived. And then, the 21st. She woke up early, put on her scent-free clothes, and headed to the woods with her Dad. She was primed and ready. Months of target practice and monitoring the deer cam were finally going to pay off!
But, not on Saturday. She came home empty handed. Undaunted, she tried again! Sunday dawned and with it the prospect of another chance, one more shot.
When she relates the story of her first hunt, her eyes glitter. She speaks with confidence and knowledge. I’m in awe of her. She spent several beautiful spring evenings inside taking hunter safety classes. She spent days learning about the .243 she’d be using; pulling the trigger is a small fraction of what it means to own and maintain a gun.
It took time to till and plant the crops that would attract the deer. Every few days she’d put the SD card in our computer and excitedly track the deer that moved by the trail cam, nicknaming them, trying to find a pattern to their comings and goings. By the time September arrived, she was prepared physically. But I wondered, would she be able to look through the sight and take the shot? Would she see dinner or a Disney character?