Now that temperatures in East Texas have dipped below the mid-hundreds and there's a slight crispness in the air — and not just in the earthworms seared to my driveway — the thoughts of outdoor enthusiasts all over the region have turned to deer hunting.
During this time of year, I always feel left out of manly-type conversations about important hunting-related subjects like deer corn inflation, how to make yourself smell more like dirt, and safe methods for going "number 2" in the woods during rutting season.
It's not that I have anything against hunting. In fact, some of my best friends and close family members are masters of the wildlife-execution arts.
But hunting just isn't for me, and there are some important reasons why.
First and foremost, woodland animals have determined that if they stay active only until around 10 in the morning, they have nothing to fear from the likes of me. Even on good days, if I have to get out of bed before 11, I feel like I'm undergoing intense rehab after a serious freight train accident. So, my chances of getting up before dawn by choice, and going to a location without proper restroom facilities, are pretty slim.
Next is the expense. A hobby that requires hunting leases with all the trimmings, camo drip (that's clothes for those of you allergic to teenagers), pickup trucks the size of Air Force One, and elaborate weaponry would significantly cut into my Mexican food budget. In case you were wondering, I do own a gun, and I even think I know where it is.
Believe it or not, I have been deer hunting before — once. In the days when I was dating my wife — and would do pretty much anything to convince her that I wasn't a complete doofus — my kind and patient future father-in-law invited me to go with him to his hunting lease, complete with a one-room cabin and an outdoor toilet that featured actual toilet paper — and a shovel. Looking back, I think he already had me figured out and just didn’t want to hurt my feelings by excluding me. He even provided me with one of those aluminum and vinyl lawn chairs for the 45 seconds of sleep I got.
On the so-called “morning” of our hunt, he drove me out to an indeterminate location amid the pitch-blackness of the woods, had me climb up and sit on a couple of 2x4s nailed between tree branches about eight feet off the ground, handed me a hunting rifle, told me, “Whatever you do, don’t leave this spot,” and left me for dead.
I have to admit that watching and listening to the woods “wake up” on a misty fall morning was pretty cool, just not cool enough for me to get up that early to do it ever again. I even spotted a couple of young deer grazing in the leaves — which made me wish I had a Chick-fil-A chicken biscuit.
And my father-in-law did come back for me several hours later — even though he probably had to think long and hard about it.
So, to all the hunters out there, I offer my best wishes for happy hunting and ample amounts of toilet paper. When you’re out watching the woods wake up, I’ll be hunting for the cool side of the pillow.
— Jase Graves
Jason (Jase) Graves is a national award-winning humor columnist, a married father of three daughters, a lifelong resident of Longview, Texas, and a Texas A&M Aggie. He writes about home and family issues from a humorous perspective for the Cagle Cartoons syndicate and his blog. Other than writing, his primary hobby is sleeping as late as possible. His winning Nickie’s Prize for Humor Writing essay, “The Sisterhood of the Giggling Rants,” is included in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter, published by the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. His piece, “Victoria’s Worst-Kept Secret,” is included in Chicken Soup for the Soul: My Crazy Family.