Personal Narrative Essay: My First Deer

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My First Deer

One brisk 30 degree day in January, when I was nine years old, was a day for which I was extremely excited. My dad got me out of school earlier that day, so we could go deer hunting. I had already shot a turkey the year before, so guns were nothing new to me. We made a quick stop at my house so that we could pick up the .243 youth edition, a really short barreled .243, that my dad had bought just about a month before so that we could go hunting, and I would actually be able to handle the gun. At this point we did not have the hunting land that we do today, so we went to my grandpa’s house and hunted in the clearing of trees behind his house. We walked up to the stand my dad had set up. We climbed up the stand, about ten feet
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I know this because this is what I would assume today. Again, my childish hope panned out because less than five minutes later the same three deer were back. My dad, who was extremely shocked, told me to calm down and take a long breath, shooting during the exhale when I took the shot. The deer got within twenty yards again. I, being a little more patient this time, slowly aimed at the doe. My dad helped me again. She turned broadside and I took a long breath. Then I started to exhale doing as my dad had told me, and right at the end of the exhale I took the shot. I was a little calmer after the shot this time; fearing that I had missed again. Do to this calmness I was able to see the doe take off. Just before she disappeared into the evergreens on our right, the same place they had disappeared the first time, I was able to spot a squirt of crimson red blood seep out of her.
Usually after you shoot a deer you wait at least 30 minutes to go look for it unless it’s sitting dead in front of you. I barely made it ten before my dad gave in and we climbed down. Before we even left the stand, my dad told me to look for blood, which is actually what you’re supposed to do. We followed the same path the deer had taken. Right before the patch of evergreens, we spotted a bit of blood (probably the same blood I had seen from the stand). I desperately searched
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This “chair leg was approximately 100 yards from where the deer had been shot. Together, we went to the pile of gray trees. There laying in the abundance of soon to be fire wood, was a brownish tan heap of almost 100 pounds of venison, my doe. We gutted her out there in the field. Man that was gross, seeing the potent gas sacks and endless amount of blood pour out of her almost empty body. We left the attached guts still in there. I tried to help there in the field, but I was really more of was a detriment than an asset. My dad finished gutting her relatively quickly, and we loaded her in the truck and headed to our heated garage. While we were quartering her up in the garage, no more than two hours after the hunt had started, we took out the heart. And this is when we found out that the second shot, after having completely missed the first, was a heart

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