My brother killed a deer with his bow and arrow last week. It was his first animal taken in such a fashion, after several years in the sport.
So he took the shot, there was no danger, and the end result was a smallish Bambi Twohorn corpse that will feed Mammy and the chillens come winter.
But I'm proud of my bro. Not every man can shoot a deer in the spinal chord, through the heart, through the lungs and out the other side while perched on a platform 20 feet above the forest floor. I think even Davy Crockett gave my brother a here-in-spirit coon-skin-cap nod from the grave.
Here we are with the primary incisions while gutting the beast. I remember back when my family lived in Maine and we saw a guy cleaning a black bear like this. I was five and the bear seemed HUGE. Probably where my bear phobia originated...
But thankfully animal blood doesn't bother me. Only the human variety (especially when paired with needles). But we got 'er gutted alright. Good eatins for nearby coyotes. Gut pile a la carte anyone?
Family shot around the deer. Nephew Joshy: "Can I touch the eyeball?" "Yes, son. You can touch the eyeball."
And a shot of the nephews-on-car-with-football to grow on.