It’s July and I haven’t stopped thinking about deer season since it ended last year. It’s been seven months since I kissed the woods goodbye with an unfilled deer tag in my pocket. It hurt, oh it hurt so bad to say goodbye, especially with unfinished business. I haven’t found a decent recipe for tag soup yet. To make things worse, last night after rummaging through the freezer and coming up empty handed, my wife commanded me to go shoot a deer so we could replenish our stock.
“Can’t do it, Sweet Pea. There are rules against that sort of thing this time of year, but give me three months this fall and I promise to fill er up.”