I’m Sorry, Did You Say That Your Husband is a Redneck? I’m Sure Mine Has Yours Beat!

DISCLAIMER: I’m not and never have been a hunter. I don’t kill things. I love animals more than I will ever love people. However, I would much rather one animal lose it’s life, quickly and as painlessly as possible, to feed my family, then go to the grocery store and buy the meat of mistreated, abused, neglected and unethically-raised farm animals and continue to perpetuate that vicious cycle. Therefore; I’m totally okay with my husband hunting. He kills a deer or two each year and a bunch of grouse, so we can eat healthy, free-ranged (so-t0-speak) animals who, for the most part, have great lives before they encounter him. I would prefer to never eat meat at all, but the fact is that I am not ready to give up meat completely. One day, maybe I will be, but for now, this will work and I’m okay with it.

This story is for all women out there who have redneck husbands like mine!

Friday night, my cousins Matt and Jodie arrived a few hours earlier than they were expected and, since Greg was just about to head out to hunt grouse when they pulled up, Matt jumped in the adventure mobile with him and off they went. The idea was that they would take Juno and let him spook some Grouse so Greg could shoot a few for Saturday night’s dinner. Things didn’t exactly go as planned…

About 35 minutes later, I was hanging in the kitchen with Jodie as I was preparing dinner and Greg’s Grand Vitara pulled up outside. It wasn’t even close to dark yet and the boys had said they would be coming back at dark, so I immediately thought something was amiss. I walked out on the deck to see what Greg was up to and this is what he looked like:

Here’s how our conversation went:

Jo: Uhm, that must have been a large grouse you shot because, in case you haven’t noticed, you are covered in blood.

Greg: I shot a whitetail buck.

Jo: Oh! And you never thought to maybe wear hunting clothes before you set out to hunt today?

Greg: Well, I didn’t actually think I’d see any deer today or kill any for that matter.

Jo: Those are the last shorts you have that were good and fit you well. Now they are ruined forever.

Greg: No they’re not. Deer blood comes out really easily.

Jo: Blood is blood, Greg. It never comes out of anything easily.

Greg:  But babe, I shot a deer, so I don’t give a shit about the blood on my shorts.

Jo: Sigh. Where is the deer?

Greg: It’s in the back seat of my truck with Juno.

Jo: So, you just folded it up and threw it in the back seat with the dog?

Greg (giggling): Yep!

By this time, Matt came over, wearing civilian attire as well (nice jeans, clean T shirt).

Jo: How come you’re not covered in blood?

Matt: Because I wasn’t about to ruin my clothes.

Jo (turning to Greg): See (pointing to Matt)? He’s smart!

Then I watched them pull the deer out of the truck and they disappeared into the carport to start skinning Mr. Buck.

As if that whole exchange wasn’t redneck enough for you, they told us the whole story later that night.

Greg and Matt were cruising along, looking for grouse and out popped the two whitetail bucks that I had taken photos of about a week ago (when we were coming back from a hike in the boonies). Matt said that he hadn’t even made it all the way out of the truck yet and the gun went off and one of the deer dropped. Time waits for no slow hunter. So, the deer was only 100 yards from the road and both Greg and Matt (who are both regular hunters who both have a bazillion pounds of camo clothing and proper hunting equipment) went to grab it in their civilian clothing. As they were packing in back to the truck, two other hunters drove up (these ones in full-on camo) and stopped to check out the deer. Imagine how odd it must have been for them to be all dressed up to hunt and coming back from shooting nothing when, suddenly, they come around a corner to see a dude in board shorts and a T shirt and another in fancy jeans and a T shirt, gutting a deer. Yesterday, I laughed so hard at the visual that I was gasping. Then, to top it off, these “civilian guys” aren’t even hunting in a truck, they’re in a tiny Grand Vitara (it’s kind like a mini jeep) and they fold this buck onto a tarp and put it in the back with the dog. Had I been one of those camo-clad hunters, I would most likely have been a bit ticked off at the absurdity of the entire situation. However, I’m just the wife of a redneck dude who was in too much of a hurry to put his hunting clothes on and got super lucky by coming across an in-season buck when he was actually hunting for grouse. I just take this kind of thing in stride as nothing Greg does surprises me anymore.

My cousin is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he wasn’t expecting to go hunting that day or definitely wasn’t expecting Greg to shoot a deer, by the side of the road, in board shorts and a T shirt.

 

 

 

One thought on “I’m Sorry, Did You Say That Your Husband is a Redneck? I’m Sure Mine Has Yours Beat!

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