Click to Subscribe
▶  More from Blog Guest Authors The Man Cave
Except for the Chicken
A Hunters Muse by the Checkered Demon


So the Winter slides away and it's the 24th of January. My Elk tag is good to the 31st. I sit out, of a morning, looking for the Cow Elk to present herself. Give herself to me.

I'm only another horny male, and there is no reason for an Elk to wander into my A.O. No reason other than Nature keeps all of us, hunter and prey, on an elastic string, up or down. A day comes when two lives tilt off in strange direction. One becomes a stew, and beings alien to it say very nice, or other things that are only noise. The other is praised for a hunter. But he knows it was only what we call luck, or a lucky convergence of the planets.

So we moderns punch way above our actual weight when we go for the mountain royalty. The beings beyond lying and politics. The beings our betters in all ways. To bring the mighty low, Down where we dwell. The best we can be is swift and deadly. Like a virus no one saw coming.

Killing' s intense. It's nothing you want to make a habit of. Still, there is a beauty there when the powers that be issue a license to kill, and you enter that sphere of brutality and snip that spirit string, shucking the viscera into the grass and packing out 300 pounds of prime meat. Food right out into the Fall. I can hope. A front is blowing in this weekend, and the animals WILL move on the front.

I don't care how it goes. Either way is fine, because the world goes on either way. If I miss the Elk, I'll just eat Chicken. Life goes on, except for the Chicken.

We're given the playing field where the tales of murder and evasion are played out. If there has ever been a people so blessed, I've never heard of them. Most killer monkeys slave in the rowing benches of the state ships. Some roam at will, and kill like free men. At least, we tell ourselves that. Actually, we're slaves too; only trusted with guns. For now.

I have no clue, and I have scads of company. We're such a gabble of dreck the clues are drowned out by faux noise. Undetected beneath the surface scum. Flags being planted for no reason on unseen shores.

I'd love to think I really saw something back there, but it's all queasy and odd. We feed ourselves lies, and then sing songs of our prowess. Who needs that crap?

Us, evidently.

CD

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9Utt_XgcWv8

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=3H5xPOCyJHg

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RTEoV8E_Y80

Add Comment
CDFebruary 3, 2018 11:53 AM UTC

Where one shoots an animal is as crucial as getting the shot in the first place. I hunt a place that is steep, and that is something to keep in mind. The ideal would be to knock her down below a ridge top on a steep slope, where you could dress her out, slip her into a body bag and slide it down the slope. Get it to a place where you can use the ATV to haul her into a flat bit and finish up. I'd call my neighbor down the hill or my Wife to lend a hand or do Bear guard duty. Holding a bear tag, you might get a twofer.

The whole thing is moot though, since the season is gone without me giving my tender attentions to Sister Elk.
Sam J.February 2, 2018 6:37 AM UTC

How do you get the meat out when you shoot an elk? I mean they're like huge aren't they and it's not like you can back your truck up to it. More than one trip and wouldn't every scavenger around run off with it? I wonder the same about Moose.