Several years ago, I was invited to go deer hunting with my brother-in-law Jake on their ranch near Rocksprings, Texas.
My wife was anxious to visit her sister, and I was off work for Thanksgiving break, so we made plans for a week-long family visit.
This was a fun and memorable week for all of us. The highlight of the trip for me were the hours spent around the fire pit in the front yard, listening to stories told by both of my brothers- in-law (Jake and my wife’s brother Harley), singing Robert Earl Keen songs (Merry Christmas from the Family is my favorite), and drinking beer.
I need to mention, though it is not critical to the story, I am not much of a beer drinker. I have never really cultivated a taste for beer.
I can count the number of beers I’ve had in the last few years on one hand, which makes me no fun at parties. But Jake and Harley liked to drink and tell stories.
And the stories they tell are always worth the price of admission.
My favorite was Jake recounting the story of Uncle Buddy accidentally driving his LTD through the front doors of the laundromat in downtown Rocksprings. It’s a knee slapper.
Besides visiting family, the purpose of our visit was the aforementioned deer hunting adventure. Our weekly program went something like this.
We would stay up half the night, with Jake and Harley drinking, singing, and telling stories while the rest of us enjoyed the show. I would wake early the next day in hunt mode, ready my rifle and gear, and wait, being the only adult male in the vicinity without a hangover.
Most days we were mobile by mid-morning.
A few days into our adventure we had a better start though. And instead of being alone with Jake, Harley wanted to join us. Harley is the nicest guy in the world, the kind of person that will literally give you the shirt off his back or the keys to his truck, if needed.
He’s a great guy. You just might not want to hunt with him.
So, we loaded up early. It was a cold morning, but not frigid. Harley was wearing a down vest, and before leaving I noticed him traipse over to the cooler and slip two cans of Coors into his vest, one can in each pocket.
Scouting and driving the ranch, we soon found our hunting spot. We stopped the truck and piled out, being extra careful and quiet.
We eased the truck doors closed so as to not make any noise.
Jake led the way as point man and guide. I followed next, ri- fle in hand. Harley was behind.
We navigated our way for several hundred yards, careful not to step on twigs or anything that might make the slightest noise.
Like Comanches we slipped through the cedars, serious about finding our prey. Jake was certain that deer were holed up in a thicket of scrub oak less than 100 yards ahead on our right. Since we were in the peak of the rut, Jake was carrying antlers and started rattling to draw out any bucks.
I eased from behind him into a safe shooting position. The tension was thick as we breathlessly anticipated a buck stepping into the clear at any moment.
When we could hardly take the tension a moment longer, the quiet still of the morning was broken by the pop of aluminum and the fizz of malted foam - “tchKKpssssss…” Unbeknownst to us, Harley, at the back of the line and ready to enjoy the show, had slipped one cold beverage from his vest pocket and decided this was the perfect time for some liquid refreshment.
Right at the very moment we were breathlessly poised and ready to harvest that buck hiding in the brush, he reasoned this was the time to enjoy his beer.
What was the result of that crack of aluminum and malted fizz? The biggest buck we had seen all week exploded from out of the brush and vanished in a nano second.
We stood stunned, in disbelief, befuddled. From behind I could see Jake’s ears turning red. I was pretty vexed as well.
As we slowly turned, we could see Harley smiling, his thirst quenched.
Laughing, I realized that even though I lost my buck, I had a good story.
© 2023 Jody Dyer
