I saw the deer in the cross hairs of my scope; I took one last deep breath of the crisp winter air as my dad pressured me to hurry up, and I squeezed the trigger. I had never heard anything sound so loud in my life. My heart was beating through my chest as I looked down to see blood and shattered glass everywhere. The doe I was aiming for still standing in front of me unharmed. I was shaking uncontrollably, and not from the cold, but from the sight of what I had done. The smell of black power lingered in the air as I began to cry. Sitting all alone in the wide open field, I asked myself, “What have I done?” Ever since the day I could walk, my dad took me everywhere with him, and every fall and winter I would go with him hunting. The fall after
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Most of my hunting opportunities were taken up by sports, FFA contests, and my dad taking my little brother hunting. That evening my dad asked me if I wanted to go with him feeding cows in chance of seeing a deer in one of fields as we drove through the farm, like we had many times before over the years. As I got in the hay truck I had an overwhelming bad feeling, but pushed it aside to focus on spending time with my dad. Not listening to my gut was my first mistake. “It’s kinda windy out, we might not see anything tonight,” my dad mentioned as we headed through the hay fields toward the cattle. I smarted off, “That’s why it is called hunting, and not killing.” The rest of the ride was relatively quiet. My dad and I both on the lookout for a deer while unrolling a bale of hay for the cows. “There is some daylight left if you want to keep driving around, maybe there is some deer hiding out on the north side of the farm,” I eagerly nodded my head in agreement, “you have to get the gates though,” chuckling he said. I got out of the truck and all I could smell was the hay we just unloaded. The wind felt like it was almost burning my face it was so cold. I opened the gate and shut it after my dad drove through. As I was walking back to the truck I got the same pitted feeling in my stomach that I could not explain. “Are you okay?” my dad asked, “You looked kind of funny out
Most of my hunting opportunities were taken up by sports, FFA contests, and my dad taking my little brother hunting. That evening my dad asked me if I wanted to go with him feeding cows in chance of seeing a deer in one of fields as we drove through the farm, like we had many times before over the years. As I got in the hay truck I had an overwhelming bad feeling, but pushed it aside to focus on spending time with my dad. Not listening to my gut was my first mistake. “It’s kinda windy out, we might not see anything tonight,” my dad mentioned as we headed through the hay fields toward the cattle. I smarted off, “That’s why it is called hunting, and not killing.” The rest of the ride was relatively quiet. My dad and I both on the lookout for a deer while unrolling a bale of hay for the cows. “There is some daylight left if you want to keep driving around, maybe there is some deer hiding out on the north side of the farm,” I eagerly nodded my head in agreement, “you have to get the gates though,” chuckling he said. I got out of the truck and all I could smell was the hay we just unloaded. The wind felt like it was almost burning my face it was so cold. I opened the gate and shut it after my dad drove through. As I was walking back to the truck I got the same pitted feeling in my stomach that I could not explain. “Are you okay?” my dad asked, “You looked kind of funny out