Deer Patterns
I have read for years about the success of deer hunting is to figure out where the deer are going to be before they get there. This enables a person to be in the right place at the right time. It all sounds good in theory. During most of the year, deer move in predictable patterns from bedding areas to where they feed and back again. When the hunter knows where the feeding and bedding areas are, it is just a matter of being along the route when they are moving. As I rise early and have coffee on the porch, I can do a fair amount of pre-season scouting from the comfort of my chair. Most mornings, two does with three fawns move from the north calving pasture to the top of the dam and up the hill to the top gate, grazing at a leisurely pace as they go. From there, they turn left and head down the Morman trail. They browse around the area before bedding down for the day.
Two other does with two fawns cross the driveway, eat around in the hay field and head into the paintball woods to bed down for the day. This group of deer pass close
enough to the house to incur the wrath of the dogs each time they pass through. They know how close Billie can approach due to the limitations of his electronic collar, so they watch him with casual interest as he does his best to chase them off. Jag is a good support dog. He will stand at Billie’s side and also bark ferociously. He is too old and wise to chase deer. He knows he cannot catch them, and it is a waste of energy to try.
I am sure the same movements of small groups of does occurs all over the farm each day. The bucks move in similar patterns, separate from the does, and generally use more cover to travel from place to
place. Where the does are moving across open fields, the bucks will follow timber lines, brushy ditches, and any other cover so they are not easily seen. When bow hunting, using the known patterns of the deer can make hunting much easier. Bow season started on October 1. If a person knows the pattern of a particular deer, they had better get it early. About October 15, deer patterns cease to exist. Breeding season starts and bucks start chasing does everywhere. The bucks that were so illusive all year are now running around in open fields with their noses to the ground, following the scent of the does. They do not care where they are or who sees them. Bucks will move out of their home terri-
tory and travel several miles looking for does. There is no pattern to their movements and being in the right place at the right time to get a shot with an arrow, in my opinion, is more luck than anything. A person waiting patiently for the buck they have been scouting all year may or may not see him again. On the positive side, other bucks that have never been seen before will show up.
For about six weeks, the rut continues. Does will be moving at random times of the day and bucks will be chasing them. It is an exciting time to hunt as most anything can show up at any time of the day. There is not predicting what or when and there is no pattern until after breeding season.
Signs of Recovery From Addiction
In recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction, we’re often not aware of how much we are changing until we see a difference in how others react to us. This is a story of my friend Steve, and when he quit drinking 35 years ago.
Steve and his family had a dog, a red, female, cocker spaniel named Bobbie. First of all, while Steve was still drinking, he was jealous of Bobbie, because in Steve’s delusional state, he perceived that Bobbie got more attention from his wife and kids than he did. They cuddled and hugged Bobbie, but essentially ignored Steve, especially when he was drinking, which was most of the time.
Steve also did not like the color red. He’d had a girlfriend with red hair before he was married, and she dumped him for Steve’s best friend, er, ah, Steve’s best drinking buddy. Therefore, when Steve looked at the red cocker spaniel, whose fur was about the same shade of red as his former girlfriend’s hair, his
thoughts turned to love gone awry, and he kicked and cursed at Bobbie.
“You good-for-nothing mutt.” Bobbie spent most of her time hiding in the bedroom when Steve was around.
But then Steve sobered up in October, 35 years ago. His family immediately welcomed and loved their newly sober father and husband, but Bobbie wasn’t so trusting. She still ran and hid when Steve came home.
This went on for a yearand-a-half or so.
On one particular Sunday, Steve, as usual went to a midday meeting and then returned home to watch football.
His family was gone for the weekend and he had the house to himself. He could have his pop and ice, and his favorite snack food, sit back with his feet up, the remote in one hand, and watch football all afternoon, and probably nap. As he prepared to kick back in his
well-worn leather recliner, he felt something against his leg. It was Bobbie, rubbing up against him. This was strange. Bobbie usually hid from him. “What’s the matter, girl?” Steve spoke in a soothing voice. “Do you miss Mom and the kids?”
Bobbie looked up at him with those huge brown puppy eyes, that were starting to water.
“Well so do I,” said Steve. He reached down and petted her, and she didn’t shy away from his touch. In fact, she snuggled tighter against his legs.
Steve took a chance and slowly reached down to see if he could pick her up. Bobbie didn’t resist. Steve placed her on his lap where she immediately curled up with her eyes closed. This was indeed strange behavior for both Bobbie and Steve.
Steve was pinned
there and couldn’t move. But he had his drink and pizza bites close at hand, and the remote. He settled in for a good Bears’/Packers’ game at Lambeau Field in Green Bay. Oddly, Bobbie wasn’t interested in the pizza bites.
Favre the gunslinger, proceeded to carve up the Bears’ secondary. Steve was a
Bears’ fan, but liked Brett Favre, whom he identified with.
At half time, with his legs cramping, Steve noticed that Bobbie wasn’t moving. In fact, he couldn’t tell that she was breathing. There was no chest movement. He felt her. She was warm, but her chest was still. Bobbie had died on Steve’s lap.
