Bring Me Back A Bambi Burger

First published November 11, 2005

A few weeks ago in this column I mentioned bow hunting for deer. I pointed out that the concept of the bow hunter as a kind of modern-day Hiawatha, gliding through the forest and slaying the noble beast with a hand-hewn weapon, is not quite accurate when Hiawatha’s hand-hewn weapon is equipped with a laser targeting system.

And now we’re approaching the highlight of the year for all the really serious Bambi Blasters out there – the firearm deer season’s Opening Day! Think of it! A million and-a-half guys in orange hats, a million and-a-half loaded weapons, and three million cases of beer – what could possibly go wrong?

Now please don’t think that I’m making fun of hunters. I make it a point never to make fun of people who have guns and who like to shoot things with them.

Besides, there’s nothing I enjoy more than tossing a nice venison steak on the grill, so I certainly can’t claim any philosophical or moral objection to hunting. I’m just way too much of a wimp to do it. When I want a hamburger, I’d rather not have to club the cow and grind it up myself.

So while I don’t hunt, I have nothing but respect for the average hunter. Here is an outdoorsman who can survive for a week or more on nothing but Twinkies, Slim Jims, and Bud Light. He can sleep in a drafty cabin filled with seven other snoring guys and a cloud of Slim Jim farts. He can get up before dawn, sit shivering in the woods all day without ever seeing a deer, then happily go back to camp for another night of snoring and farting.

And he looks forward to this all year.

Just this morning I ran into my hunter friend, Thor. “So,” I said, “do you have all your guns and ammo ready for Opening Day?”

“Nah,” Thor said, looking like he’d just lost his best Winchester. “I’m not going hunting this year.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Aw, my son’s getting married next weekend. In Maui. Darned kid.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Not really. The bride’s parents are paying for the plane tickets, the room…”

“The whole shot?”

Thor looked pained. “Don’t say ‘shot!’”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, we gotta fly out to Maui on Opening Day! And we have to be out there all week!”

“Don’t you like the girl?”

“No, she’s great. In fact, we kind of wonder what she sees in our son.”

“Wow, a week in Maui, all expenses paid, to see your son get married to a terrific girl. How inconsiderate can these people get?”

“I know it. Hey, do you suppose there might be any deer camps near Lahaina?”

“Maybe you should pack a gun or two. Just in case.”

Of course, Opening Day also means that there might be some nimrod out there who will get all tanked up and take a potshot at your Durango or somebody’s Schnauzer. But cheer up - sooner or later the basic principals of natural selection always weed guys like that out of the gene pool.

So for all you hunters who are trembling with anticipation, polishing your hollow-points and stocking up on Slim Jims, I have just five words:

Have fun, and be safe.

Copyright © 2005 Michael Ball