If there was one way to describe Rayna the best, it would be that her presence was always felt. If I was clearing snow from the driveway, she was there catching it as it shot from the snow blower. If I was mowing the lawn, she would drop a rock right in my path and force me to stop the mower. If Steph and I tried to watch a movie, she would sit in front of the TV and block our view. If I forgot to latch the bathroom door while doing my business, she would push her way in and expect a good head scratching while I was unavoidably detained. If she’d been able to talk, she’d have been an introvert’s nightmare.
My increase in concern over how much time I’ll have to hunt this fall is inversely related to the decrease in time until Baby Biebel arrives. My concern hit an all-time high this past weekend when I made my first scouting trip of the season. It’s hard to adequately describe the feelings of anticipation that I feel when standing over a pile of deer poop in an acorn infested stand of oaks. Knowing Mr. Big roams through this area, even if at night, is enough to get my heart rate up. That, and the mile-long hike to get there.
When extended family comes to visit, I’m not one to spare the good stuff. “Hey, wanna grill a woodchuck?” I asked my brother-in-law as we were chipping golf balls around the yard one evening. Brock is not one to back down from a challenge and he claims to know how to grill, so I fished the poorly packaged woodchuck out of my chest freezer and plopped it on the table. Silence filled the air as intrigue descended upon the crowd of young children gathered around.
“So, I noticed a charge on the credit card to Vermont Fish and Wildlife for your Moose application. When is the season again?” my wife questioned me the other day.
“Oh, you know….early October,” I replied.
I tried to leave, but before I could she hit me with a dose of her reality. “You do remember that I’m due at the end of September, right?”
I’ve often thought that, despite the hard work, hosting a hunting show would be fun. Obviously, the show would be immensely popular and leave a lasting, positive impact on viewers. It would combine the sexiness of a Mariah Carey music video to attract the shallow minded viewers, but also bring the intensity found in a Bob Ross “The Joy of Painting” episode for those who desire the many qualities Ms. Carey lacks. That big buck in the first episode won’t be standing behind a half dead tree, it’ll be behind a “scantily clad, happy little hemlock.” See what a mean? That’s television gold if I do say so myself.