The Ramblings of Weesatch Joe

I had to kill a deer tonight.  I didn't want to. It had gotten its rear leg caught in the fence and, suspended between the freedom of flying through the air and the racing over the earth below, it had torn the earth in vain, trying to free itself from the woven steel. I had seen it from a hundred plus yards away, alerted to it by my dog. It must have happened some time earlier in the afternoon. I watched for just a moment from my porch, realizing what it was, knowing what happened, fearing what the final answer would need to be. Responsible citizen that I am, and timid hunter that I also am, I called the county game warden for assistance. As a back-story, and a small interlude, I have no issue with hunting animals for meat and, when necessary, for management. I used to enjoy bird hunting but haven't done it in over 20 years. My last venture deer hunting was in 1996, Barney Fife style, a singular cartridge residing in my breast pocket, rifle empty and slung from my shoulder. I m...

Dog’s head volleys left and right, right and left, Watching the world through her window’s lens. I imagine her thoughts and interpret her barks and woofs: ‘I could catch that truck, given a chance,’ - I don’t think you really want to find out, Dog. ‘That cow doesn’t scare me...who does she think she is?’ - About 800 pounds of anger, on the hoof. ‘Wait...that bird is sitting in MY yard? Blast off! Be gone!’ - Plenty of space, Dog, and she doesn’t listen to you. ‘Can I go outside and play with that dog walking the lady?’ - No, Dog. ‘That squirrel is mocking me! I must scare it off!’ - Seems that way, doesn’t it? I don’t think it’s scared.’ A cocked head, raised ears, a final woof, Warning all takers that she’s the neighborhood watch. It’s a bluff, not serious; just for show. Then, a sigh, as she thinks, ‘Maybe you’re right.’ She doesn’t look at me. The ears fall, the head lowers, the body settles. Her mouth rests on the couch as eyes follow the passing cars. She turns, slowly, ...