Moose's Buck
Home Up The Black Hole Literary Review Wm. E. Allendorf, Prop.

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Moose could not contain himself and shot a spike on Sunday morning. From what he explained, he's been reading my weblog and  tried my "I crush your head" trick using his Winchester Model 70, but flipped the safety off. Ooops.  His shot was perfect; the trigger broke as a complete surprise-- both lungs and the top of the heart.  Word to the wise: if you're going to count coup with a modern centerfire rifle, it is best to do it without a round in the chamber. Moose has learned a cheap lessons-- the red rubber thingy on the back of the rifle is not an eraser.  All marks made with 30-06 are permanent.  He also learned: "You can't eat antlers." He's tagged out, but most of the venison in the freezer is his. His spike rack goes up next to mine in a place of prominence in the dining hall as a reminder of how fast a season ends.

I have to admire his eye for cooperative deer.  His didn't jump in the back of the truck, but it came close. I was about 300 yards away, and he had it in the truck by the time I got down from my stand and walked over. We took it to Jake for processing. I told Jake about my reference to him as an expert on deer in the rut.  He had a good laugh.  He prefers the photoperiodism theory.  He said Opening Day had been busy, but not as much as some years-- "A few, and a few big ones." was his assessment. 
 

 

 


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