My occasionally snarky thoughts on everything from motherhood, politics, life and current events. Cocktails are sometimes mandatory. Bottoms up!

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

That dog won't hunt....

....Well, actually that's my Husband.

I was over at Army Wife's place where she is soon to be a deer hunting widow. She has her supplies though...

I will be a "deer camp widow" for a few days. Time to break out the chocolate, chick flicks, a nice bottle of wine, and some bubble bath.
So I imagine that she will be okay. (Provided the toddlers don't hide the chocolate, dump the wine and drink the bubblebath, of course....)

Anyway, her post reminded me of a funny thing that happened right after we moved to Wisconsin 2 years ago. You see, my husband doesn't hunt. Never has. And around here, that in and of itself is a bit of an anomaly -- we just weren't aware of it.

I sent dear husband off to a birthday party with one of the girls.. (I had a friend in town visiting so he got drafted to do birthday party duty.) Off he and K. went to the local Bowling Alley (a very happenin' BD party location here in WI) and because we were new in town and unsure of BD party etiquette he decided to stay for the duration of the party -- hell, there was a spot to have a beer there and watch the game so it's not like it was going to be rough duty or anything.

So hubby finds a spot, orders his brew, and settles in for a bit. And gets to have this conversation:

Random Bowling Alley Bar Guy: "So have you got yours yet?"

Hubby: "Pardon me?"

RBABG: "Have you got yours yet?"

Hubby: "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean..."

RBABG: "Your deer. Have you got your deer yet?"

Hubby: "Oh.... I'm sorry, no.... I don't hunt."

RBABG: ... ... ...

"What do you mean.... you don't hunt."

Hubby: Um...... I mean don't hunt. I don't own a rifle or shoot animals. I don't hunt. Nothing against it -- I just never have."

RBABG: ... ... ...

"You mean you've never been hunting? Ever?"

Hubby: "No."

Well, this revelation had shaken RBABG to say the least..... And after some mumbling and incredulous stares, he says, "I don't think I have never MET anyone who doesn't hunt........"

To which my unflappable Hubby answered. "Well, now you have....." And he turned back to the game.
Personally, I like that he doesn't hunt. I never have to worry about coming home to dead birds in the sink, or a carcass hanging in the garage. (Or him going out for a nice weekend in the woods with his buddies and coming home with a gunshot wound....) You know, stuff like that. And it's not like he doesn't get to feed that "hunter gatherer" instinct -- he golfs. And I have yet to ever have to figure out a way to cook the golfballs that he brings home. An added bonus...

Don't get me wrong, I understand hunting both as a sport and a means by which to fill your freezer. I grew up in a family that hunted. My Dad would get an Elk tag every year and would occasionally get lucky and draw a Moose tag as well. One of my favorite photographs of my little brother is of him with his first Elk (a gorgeous 5 point buck).

We filled our freezer every winter and had "meat packaging parties" in Gary Moody's garage. If that's what you like to do I'm all for it! *I* just don't want to go -- ever. I ate enough Elk, Moose, and Deer (and the occasional Antelope) growing up that if I never eat wild meat again, I am okay with that. Really.

So for this hunting season, I will tip my glass to the many "deer camp widows" out there.

May your chocolate be creamy, Your wine never empty, and Your chick flicks and bubble bath soothing and warm.

And may your kids be nice to you and eachother and enjoy early bedtimes -- (while we're askin' might as well go for it.) Salud!