You can't eat a deer if you don't get him.
Thirty years ago or more I was sneaking and peeking for deer in a soft late season snow; heavy, wet flakes the size of miniature poodles adhered to every branch of the alders, dogwoods, and conifers. Visibility was about 10 feet.
It was a fairytail land of silence. I was approaching a stand of balsam and as I stepped into a bouquet of small ones a tree exploded with white. It was a doe busting loose just 10 feet from me, maybe 8. It was too close to shoulder my rifle( 30-30 lever action Winchester), so I negotiated a quick hip shot and in the blink of an eye the deer was past me and gone, though not before I fenced forward with the rifle barrel and stabbed her in the ribs w/ the muzzle.
I had been unable to lever out my spent shell because the rifle was down at hip level so I could not shoot my 2nd shot. All that remained was a few deer hairs stuck to the end of the barrel.
A short time later, after I had crossed the 40 acre field to the farmhouse, Clifford looked at me sideways as I told him the story.
It wasn't the only time over the years that I have missed a deer. When you miss one, you don't have one to eat. The photo is of a roast of another deer in another year.
