i was born and raised in Pennsylvania. not Philadelphia, PA or even Pittsburgh. Pennsyltucky, PA. which means, I'm part redneck. (probably explains my love for all things camouflage).
and in that little school district in which i was edumacated, there was one day every year that we had off -- a school holiday -- that very few other school districts in the world observe. and that day was the Monday after Thanksgiving. but to those of us from Pennsylvania it shall always be known as...the first day of buck season.
yes, i'm talking about buck...as in deer. a male deer.
matt! you suck! how could you go out and kill bambi, you bastard! i'm never reading your blog AGAIN.your loss. but for the record, i DON'T kill bambi. only bambi's papa...and occasionally his mama.
and it was nearly three years ago now, on a trip home for Thanksgiving, that i bagged this bad boy...
this is what we hunters call a nine-pointer. and he was a B.E.A.U.T.Y.
You still suck, Matt. I'm gonna call P.E.T.A. on your ass! And anyone who has to hunt animals to feel like a man is just trying to overcompensate for his small penis.Actually, I, too belong to P.E.T.A. (People for the Eating of Tasty Animals). and that's okay, you don't have to agree with hunting. had i not grown up with it as a part of my culture, I probably would despise it too. but just know that this deer was taken on my parents' property as part of a legal, state-wide hunt to control the ever-growing deer population in Pennsylvania.
And, having been felled with a single, clean shot to the heart, it was dead before it hit the ground. Meaning, it didn't suffer.
And and, my penis size is completely normal for a white male my age. Or so my doctor has told me.
Back to the deer...
Bagging a monster buck like that in Pennsylvania, let alone on your own farm, is a rare gift. a gift that i did not want to squander. a gift that I wanted to keep forever...a little piece of home...that would creep out roommates and prospective girlfriends for years and years to come.
So i got its head stuffed. or rather my pops did. for my birthday. (thanks, dad)
Only one problem remained -- how to get a monster deer head from Pennsylvania to California.
Would it fit in a suitcase? Nope. An over-head compartment of an airplane? Nope nope. A FedEx box? Nope nope nope.
between the incredible spread of its antlers and its long, beefy neck, it created a dimensional dilemma. no box was either long, wide, or deep enough, no matter how many we tried. except, of course, a refrigerator box. but shipping that across the states would've cost
millions.
days turned into weeks...weeks into months...months into years...and years into more years. and my beloved deer head was only collecting dust in my parents' basement...
until one day this summer.
when my uncle clint passed away last winter, his daughter Shelley (my cousin) and her family decided to buy the giant motor-home RV he and my aunt used for month-long ski trips out west.
it just so happened that the bottom of a motor-home contained ample storage space. ample enough...for a deer head.
Shelley and her fam flew from their home in Arizona to PA this summer to pick up the RV. they drove it up to Maine...down to Maryland...over to Rushmore...back to Jersey...then on to Yellowstone...the Grand Canyon...before finally coming to rest at their home in Scottsdale. And all the while, my precious severed deer head was in the belly of the RV, wrapped safely in a blanket of bubble-wrap, its polished glass eyes staring out the porthole at Americana.
then one day last week, the phone rang...
"hey, Matt, it's Shelley. we're down at Disneyland for the week. and we've got your deer head."
"i'll be there in five minutes," I said, tears of joy brimming in my eyes.
oh the fun we had! Space Mountain! Splash Mountain! Pirates! Soarin! California Screamin'! ride after ride we hooted and hollered, my beloved deer head always by my side. one time during the Bugs Life 3-D movie...perhaps it was the funny glasses playing a trick on me...but i could've sworn i saw it crack a smile...
and so, in the Pinocchio section of the Disneyland parking lot, our journey has come to an end. man and beast were reunited at last.
thanks to Shelley, her husband Bryan, and their three precious girls.
"what's his name?" asked Caitlyn, the little blond girl.
"why...i don't know. i suppose it's time i give him a name," i said.
"you should name him Rudolph," said Lily, the little asian one.
"oh, Lily," I chuckled. "that's just SICK."
til next time...
