First I would like to say that I am sorry for not posting in a while. I don’t want to make excuses but I just was not feeling it the last couple of weeks. Now I'm back.
We all remember our first deer, and for many of us it is memory that we are very proud of. However sometimes we are not.
In my dads gun cabinet there is a 12ga American Nitro single shot. This gun is wore out. You have to breach it with the barrel pointing up so you don’t shear the firing pin, you need a ram rod to get out shot shells, and there is an old flashlight barrel holding it together, and it is shorter than it was because the wore the end of the barrel out and had to cut it off. But it still shoots.
This is the gun that my Daddy killed his first deer with, his daddy killed his first deer, and his daddy killed his first, or so I was told. I always knew that it was the gun that I would kill my first deer with. I took this gun hunting every time. Except for one.
This fateful day I happened to have Daddies Winchester auto. And you guessed it. He walked right out. I know it was destined to be this way because the amount of noise that I made getting in the stand should have ran any deer in the country away. Daddy had mounted a seat belt in my stand that I was supposed to wear anytime that I got in the stand. I dropped it putting it on and it was very loud. As soon as I got it on there he was.
I was so excited about that deer. I went and made my Mom help drag him out of the woods just so I could have him at home when Daddy got there. But now looking back on that deer, I do so wish that I had carried the old gun and continued the tradition.
Oh well I guess that new traditions have to be made some how.