Hillary Goes Hunting

by Jeff Neale

(humor)


“You want to what?” Chad asked, looking up from the magazine he was reading.
Hillary, his wife, rolled over next to him in bed and rubbed her index finger along the lobe of his ear. “I want to go deer hunting with you.”
“Are you serious?” he said, putting down the magazine, certain he had misunderstood.
“Yes, I am serious. We need to start doing more things together as a couple,” she said.
“But hunting?” he said. “Honey, I’m not sure that would be the right thing for us to do together.”
“Why not?” she said.
“Well, for one thing, you have never been hunting before in your life, and for another, you don’t know anything at all about it. Don’t get me wrong, I like your idea of us doing more things together as a couple, I just don’t think you going hunting with me would be the best thing. I always take the first week of deer season off and spend it going out to Uncle Buddy’s farm, and you always spend the week with your sister in Chicago. I hunt and you shop. Let’s keep it that way and try to come up with a different idea.”

Hillary nuzzled closer. “No” she said, stubbornly. “I know how much you love to hunt deer, and I think I should join with you in an activity you care so much about.”
Chad moved away and looked at her suspiciously. “Where did this idea come from?”
“Nowhere” she said, averting his gaze.
They had been married for ten years and he knew better. “Come on tell me,” he said.
“Okay, Megan and I were watching Dr. Phil the other day . . .”

“I knew it!” Chad said. “And let me guess. He said a large percentage of marriages are headed down the road to divorce because couples are not spending enough time together in shared activities together other than sex. So, you decided I could go shopping and play tennis with you, and you could go hunting with me.”
“You saw it too?” Hillary said, excitedly.
Chad groaned. “No, I don’t watch that crap. You and your friend Megan shouldn’t either. It fills your head with a bunch of silly nonsense.”
“It is not nonsense, he is a doctor,” Hillary said.
“He is more like a referee for the WWF than a doctor psychologist or whatever he is. The only difference is he gets himself in the middle of squabbling family members and passes judgment instead of between professional wrestlers. To be honest, I don’t know which is more fake, the pro wrestling or him.”

Hillary had stopped listening. She was daydreaming about what it would be like for her and Chad to be on national television while Dr. Phil straightened out their little marital disagreements.

Hillary got out of bed and went to her dressing table, sat down, and began brushing her hair. Chad knew this was her way of letting him know she was either frustrated or angry with him. She saw him watching her in the reflection of the mirror. She pressed her lips together and began brushing harder.
“I really don’t think you would enjoy deer hunting,” he said.
She stopped brushing and faced him. “I won’t know unless I try.”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I can learn. You can teach me.”
“You don’t have a license, a gun, or the right clothing.” He was quiet for a moment and then said, “Something tells me I am going to regret this.”
“Then I can go?” she said, jumping back on the bed beside him. “You’ll take me with you?”
“I guess so,” he said. “We will go to Uncle Buddy’s and scout for sign this Friday after I get off work.”

“Sign” she said. Is that like advertisements where the deer live?”

Chad got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.
“Where are you going? I thought we might spend a little time in that other activity,” she said, in a husky voice, patting the space he had just vacated.
“I am getting some aspirin from the medicine cabinet. I feel a headache coming on.”

At 9:00am the next morning, Hillary decided she would surprise Chad by getting the necessary equipment for her hunting trip before he got home.
She found a parking space for her white Lexus directly in front of Kravey’s Sporting Goods store. She was not sure of the appropriate attire when shopping for deer hunting supplies, so she went with a pair of her Calvin Klein jeans, a white pullover sweater, along with her leather jacket that Chad had gotten her for her last birthday, and her Birkenstock mocha suede shoes. She had her shoulder length auburn hair tied back in a ponytail. She checked her eyeliner and lipstick once more in the rear view mirror before getting out of the car.

She stepped through the open screen door and immediately brought her hand to her nose. What was that awful smell?
To her right, eighty-year-old Albert was sitting in his chair in front of the minnow tank and cricket box waiting to dispense bait for the fisherman. When Hillary walked in, he gaped openly at the Audrey Hepburn look alike, coughed, and when he did, his upper plate fell into the minnow tank. “Dadgummit,” he said, and dipped the net into the tank to fish out his dentures, all the while never taking his eyes from Hillary.

Simon Kravey, who was sitting behind the counter reading a Field and Stream magazine, looked up when he heard Albert splashing around with the net.
Simon was a short bearded man and just shy of three hundred pounds. When he saw Hillary, he quickly bent down and spit the chew he had been working on into an empty coffee can under the counter. A small amount of the brown juice clung to his beard between his lower lip and chin.
Hillary took one last glance at poor Albert cursing and dipping, and then approached the counter.
Simon gave her his best smile. “Hello, I’m Simon Kravey, the owner, but my friends call me Biscuit. How may I help you?”
“That poor man,” Hillary said, pointing in Albert’s direction.
“Oh, don’t pay him no mind. He drops his choppers in that tank all the time. It is a hoot to watch him fish them out. You watch and see. He won’t even rinse them off before he puts them back in. He’s entertaining.”

Hillary frowned.

“Now, like I said, how may I help you?” Biscuit said.
Hillary looked up at the row of guns stacked side by side on the rack behind Biscuit. She cleared her throat. “I want to buy a gun so I can shoot a deer,” she said.
Biscuit simply stared at her. He worried for a moment that she might be an undercover cop who had been tipped off about his little backroom gun specials, but then thought better of it. Even if it were true, he decided he would not mind this gorgeous babe putting the cuffs on him anyway.
“What kind of gun did you have in mind, Miss . . .?”
“Mrs.” she replied, hoping this would move his eyes from her breasts back to her face.
“Yes of course,” he said. “Now, what kind of gun are you looking to buy?”
“I’m not really sure,” she said. “Do you have one that would go with these shoes?”
“Beg pardon?” Biscuit said.
“I wouldn’t want to be seen with something mismatched, would you?” she said.
“No way” Biscuit said, grinning.

“I GOT IT!” Albert suddenly shouted, causing Hillary to jump.
“Watch him now,” Biscuit said.
“I’d rather not,” Hillary said, trying to regain her composure.

“Okay, I assume you want a rifle. Do you have a particular caliber in mind?”
“Of course” Hillary said. “I’m prepared to buy one of the highest caliber.”
This is getting better and better, Biscuit thought.

Hillary pointed to one of the guns. “That one is pretty,” she said.
“That’s a 22 caliber,” Biscuit said. “You need something with a little more kick for deer.” He reached to his left and pulled down a slightly bigger rifle, checked the magazine to make sure it was empty, and handed it to her. “Now this is a nice gun and would be perfect for you. It is the new Remington Woodmaster 750. As you can see it has a beautiful satin walnut stock, which I might add, goes well with most any footwear, and shoots a 150 grain bullet that will drop a deer where he stands.”
“It isn’t heavy like I thought it might be,” Hillary said.
“Only seven pounds,” Biscuit said. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “That rifle lists for $735, but if you buy it today I’ll let you have it for $700 and throw in an 8x scope absolutely free. You won’t find a better deal than that.”
Hillary thought for a moment. She had no idea if this was a bargain or not, but decided to go with her instinct. “Okay, I’ll take it,” she said. “And I need a bullet.”
“Just one?” Biscuit said, trying, but failing to stifle his grin.
“Well, I’m only going to shoot one deer,” she said.
“And what if you miss the first time?” Biscuit said.
“You’re right,” she said. “I didn’t think about that. Give me two bullets.”

Biscuit mounted the scope for Hillary and convinced her to purchase a box of ammunition, telling her she could share what she did not use with her husband. He sold her a license along with two deer tags and boxed up her purchase.
“Be careful with that gun and good luck with your hunting,” Biscuit said, as she headed for the door. “You’re gonna need it,” he said, when she was out of earshot.
Hillary gave a little wave to Albert as she went through the door. He flashed her a wide grin with his upper plate.

Her next stop was at Design’s By Rene. After greeting Rene with the customary peck on the cheek, Hillary told her she needed something stylish in hunter orange with matching gloves.
“Hunter orange?” Rene said. “Is this something new in the fashion world I am missing?”
Hillary explained.
Rene told her she would do what she could and have it ready by Thursday afternoon.

Hillary was ready and waiting with her surprise when she heard Chad pull in the driveway. When Chad opened the door, Hillary was standing in the foyer with her brand new Remington Woodmaster 750 pointed directly at him and a smile on her face.

“Surprise!” she shouted.

Chad yelped and backed up against the door. “Hillary! What the hell are you doing? Don’t ever point a gun at someone unless you are planning on shooting him or her. You just scared the crap out of me. I nearly had a heart attack.”

Hillary lowered the gun and began to cry. “I bought a gun and bullets all by myself for our hunting trip and I wanted it to be a surprise. Now I have ruined it.”
Chad took the gun from her hands and leaned it against the wall. He took her in his arms. “Honey, I am proud of you for buying the gun on your own. It is a very nice gun, but you have to learn some things about gun safety. The first being you treat every gun as if it were loaded, whether it is or not. Secondly, you never ever point a gun at anything or anyone you don’t intend to shoot.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sobbing against his chest.
“I’ll call Jack at the range tomorrow and get you set up for some gun safety instruction and target practice, okay?”
“Okay” she said.
“I’ll put your gun in the case along with mine and we can go out for dinner.”

Jack was able to schedule Hillary for her gun safety lesson the following day. He called Chad later that evening to tell him she did very well and was a quick learner.
“Turns out she is a better shot than you are,” Jack chided him.
“Very funny,” Chad said. “Do you think she is safe and ready to go? I’m probably going to have her in a stand about 200 yards from mine.”
‘I think she will do fine, Chad. Just remember it is her first time and be patient with her. Go over the rules again on the way to the stand.”
“Thanks, Jack. I owe you.”
“Just don’t forget to bring me a couple of fresh venison steaks,” Jack said.

On Friday afternoon as promised, Chad and Hillary went scouting for sign. Hillary complained about the cold and the sticker bushes, but for the most part did fairly well.
Chad stopped and pointed to a roughened circular area on the ground. “Do you see this?” he said. “It’s called a scrape. The buck, that’s the boy deer, he paws out this area in the ground when rutting season begins. Rut means he is in the mood for love. Then the doe, that’s the girl deer, when she goes in heat she comes along and urinates in this scrape. The buck returns once or twice a day and checks the scrape he has made and if he smells the doe’s scent, he follows her trail and they mate.
“That is so juvenile,” Hillary said. “Why can’t they all just meet at the same place and chose partners? I mean, what happens if the buck and the doe find out they have nothing in common? They would have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Hillary.”
“Well, it should.”

Chad went on to explain what a feed trail was and how the deer will routinely follow it. He showed her where her stand would be and how it overlooked a feed trail that ended at the edge of a stream. He then showed her his stand and reminded her not to shoot in his direction no matter if she saw a deer that way or not.

The big morning arrived three weeks later. Chad was awake and dressed by 4:30am. He was pouring his first cup of coffee when Hillary walked into the kitchen dressed in her designer hunter orange pantsuit with matching gloves.
“How do I look?” she asked, raising her arms and turning around slowly.
“Perfect” he said. Actually, he thought she looked like a prison inmate’s fantasy girl.
“Are you wearing perfume?”
“Just a small amount of my Chanel,” she said.
“You’ll need to go wash that off. The deer will smell that a mile away and never come close.”
“I think it smells nice and so will they,” she protested.
“Please, Hillary, just do it.”

Chad and Hillary managed to make it quietly to her stand before daylight. He helped her up and gave a few last instructions. “Make sure you can clearly see what you are shooting at if the chance arises, okay?” he whispered.
“Okay” she whispered back.
“If I hear you shoot, I’ll wait about ten minutes and then come to you,” he said. “If you hear me shoot just stay where you are and I’ll come get you.”
“Okay, I’m fine. Just go on.”

Chad settled in his stand and began to scan the surrounding foliage. He tried not to worry about Hillary.

The purple light of dawn gave way to full daylight thirty minutes later. To this point, it had been quiet and he had seen no sign of deer.
Chad jumped when the crack of a rifle split the morning silence. It came from the direction of Hillary’s stand. The second shot surprised him. The third shot worried him.
Although he was concerned, he was going to make himself wait the full ten minutes. However, when he heard shouting, he got out of his stand as quickly as he could and made his way toward Hillary.

He found her on the ground standing by the stream and pointing her gun at a man dressed in jeans, including chaps and spurs, and holding a cowboy hat in his hand. He looked both angry and terrified at the same time.
“Hillary, what’s going on here?” Chad said.
“It’s my deer, Chad, I shot it fair and square, and he is trying to steal it,” she said, angrily.
“Look lady,” the man said. “Don’t shoot. I told you, you can have the deer, just let me get my saddle off of him and he’s yours.”

Chad felt like he was living a nightmare. “Hillary, it’s okay. Let me have the gun.” Reluctantly, she handed it to him.
The man quickly removed his saddle and without looking back, loped away through the woods.
“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Hillary said.
“We need to have a long and serious talk, Hillary, but first I need some more aspirin.”