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Be Vewy Vewy Quiet, It’s Pooping Season

So, I had a post the other day that partly involved poo, and not the Winnie kind. Someone commented that “…every Parable is better with poop.” and “I like it and hope to see more…poop.” Mustn’t leave the readers hanging. Here is another fecal filled story.

This is probably the perfect time of year to be sharing this story. We are right in the middle of hunting season. Rifle season, for Deer, ended yesterday. Soon we will be back to bow  season, and black powder also. Deer season round here usually consists of deer camp. Most of the time deer camp actually means…well…camp. You go out in the woods, set up tents, build fires, dig holes (for the poo) and get up at the butt crack of dawn to go get that turdy point buck. This is what usual, normal people do. Let me tell how we used to do it….back in the day.

Our “Deer Camp” started the night before opening day of rifle season. We didn’t have to spend that much time getting Camp ready, because our Deer Camp was held inside our house. It began at whatever time everyone got there. We would then proceed to play cards, either Texas Hold’em or Pitch, and also consume copious amounts of all sorts of alcohol. This, along with the large pot of chili, always made for a most excellent morning, if we went to bed.

Dealing the turn in Texas Hold'em
Dealing the turn in Texas Hold’em (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Now, rifle season usually starts at sunrise on the second Saturday of November, but we would start a little early sometimes.  This particular opening weekend we decided, around 1 or 2 in the morning, that maybe we should get a head start. There were more people than usual so we all crunched into my Lincoln Town car, with me at the wheel, and were on our way. I think there were six of us in that car. What happened next….is for a different post….sorry. Back to the poop.

Having about two or three hours of sleep, we all groaned and griped when it came time to get up. It was fairly cold out, so we were all bundled up nicely. I like to have a drink at all times so I packed a couple of sodas. Along with my two packs of smokes that was going to make a great first breakfast. All of our stands were in different spots, so the ones who were furthest away took off first, and the rest of us followed about twenty minutes later. This way we could maybe push some deer their way.

This morning it was probably between 6:00 and 6:30 by the time I got into my stand. I was facing North, with a pond just to the right and in front of me. This was a pretty good spot. Before I go any further I should explain a couple of things. Deer don’t have that good of eyesight. From what I understand they see in black and white. They have okay hearing, better than most I’ve seen. The thing that helps them out the most is their sense of smell. Because of this you have to make sure to not use any smelling deodorant, shampoo, or even soap. Anything you can do to help yourself smell more like the woods is great.

I was settled in, nice and tight, waiting on the monster buck to walk by. I hadn’t killed one yet (ever), so I was a little anxious. After one can of soda I felt the urge to tinkle. I didn’t want to get down, and didn’t think it made that much of a difference, so I just stood up and did the whole “man overboard” thing. After being relieved I sat back down and continued the wait. It wasn’t long after this that I got another urge. I hadn’t “taken care of business” this morning yet, and it was getting ready to come, whether I liked it or not.

Friend of co-worker took these pictures at the...
A kind of deer I’ve never seen from a stand. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You know how you get those gut pains? When you REALLY need to go? Yeah, that happened to me, and I wasn’t about to hang my rear end over the side of the stand either. It took all I had to get down the ladder. Normally a person would’ve walked away from their stand, so not to bring any unwanted attention towards oneself. I was not afforded this opportunity. I had to use the base of the tree I was hunting out of as a toilet. You remember how I remembered to grab some sodas? I also had some hot-hands, and maybe a granola bar too. What I didn’t bring was toilet paper. So yet again I had to use my own undies to clean myself off with. I had also forgotten my knife, so I had to rip them off, and up, in order to use them. This wasn’t that big of deal cause I had long johns on too. I finished and settled back in to wait.

After a another hour or so I headed back toward the house. I may have been the first one there. The first thing I did was go double-check myself in the bathroom. It’s kind of weird walking around with just an elastic ring around your waist. It’s even worse having to explain why you were making so much noise, and why you were going up and down the ladder, and why did it get so quiet for a minute. Oh well, worse things have happened.

English: toilet wc
You can’t find these in the woods (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Over the years I’ve decided that I’d rather not hunt deer anymore. I don’t have room to store the meat, and I’m unable to use the entire animal, so why bother? I don’t really do much of any other kind of hunting either. I do own a 12 gauge shotgun, but it doesn’t get used that often. I have taken some birds with it, but mostly the kind made of clay. To be honest I think the trigger has been pulled more times by people other than myself.

So, imagine that. A real life, gun owning American. Are you impressed?

16 thoughts on “Be Vewy Vewy Quiet, It’s Pooping Season

    1. I figured on getting this reaction. Thanks for “liking” it. I think it goes to show how important it is to be prepared….and not do dumb things the night before. I’ve given it up for the most part. Maybe if I have to do it to help sustain my family I will, but that is probably a little ways off.

      Have a great Thanksgiving too, Lisa!!

  1. I never would have taken you for a hunter until I stereotype and everyone in your neck of the woods does it. My grandpa was real into hunting, are you him?

    I pooped in the woods once when I was 10. My mom had to wipe me off in the van. Your story was much tougher somehow.

    1. Well, I’m not sure if you can call me a “hunter”. That’d be like giving a sword to Donny Osmond and saying he’s a ninja.
      I’ll be 31 in two months, is that old enough to be your gramps?
      I remember the days of sitting in the pot and yelling out “I’m Done!!” I can’t wait for that to happen again.

  2. I am disgusted by you BroJo! Disgusted! I can’t believe you would be so disgustingly distgusting in the dustgusting woods with your disgustin habits and disgust me with your distusting details of the whole disgusting thing! Disgusting!
    PS: I’m not really disgusted.

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