Those Piney deer sure get smart with age. I picked out a new
spot with much deer activity, and strapped myself into the self climbing stand.
Clothes and body washed with scent killer, cover sprays on, wind to my face,
Full camo, yes. . . . . . . . .
I climbed up high, standing at the ready on my little perch.
Here he comes, it’s that eight pointer that turned into a ghost since summer.
He's walkin' . . mighty slow, . . .
sniffin' and lookin' around. He stops at
50 yards out, ears scanning, nose to the air. One step, two step, stops. .
. Every step at full alert. Finally,
he's 35 yards out . . . just show me your side ol' boy. He starts to turn and
stops. Head lifts, . . . he looks dead
at me.
. . . . . . .
Moments pass, . . I
can count my heartbeats. He looks away and takes one step . . . I center my aim
and wait for him to turn. He looks again . . . flash . . not a turn but, a
tail. He struts away with a snort. How
did he bust me?
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