Hunting

Written by S.W.

77 years old

Punxsutawney, PA

When I was about 10 years old my father gave me a 22 rifle, my very own. 

I had to take a gun safety course and shooting lessons with the 4-H club. I loved target shooting and I got pretty good at hitting the center of the target.

I would shoot any animal I would see – chipmunks, birds, snakes, frogs – I would lay in a field half the day hunting groundhogs. All you had to do was whistle and they would stand up and bingo they were dead!

I even shot a blue heron while it was flying overhead. Boy did I get the dickens for that, since they were a protected bird. Dad even took my rifle away for a week.

One day I took my rifle up in the woods and was shooting squirrels. I sat down on a stump, so I could listen for them rustling in the leaves. All of a sudden I look to my right and there is a big, beautiful 8 point buck standing there. My first thought was to shoot him, but a 22 wouldn’t do the trick.

Then our eyes met and we stared at each other for what seemed like forever. During that time I swear we connected and everything grew quiet and still. It was as if he was trying to tell me something and I felt at peace with nature and with him.

After a while he turned and walked away. I just sat there amazed at what just happened. I could never shoot another animal from that day forward.