I was 15 and in the 10th grade when I killed my first deer. We lived in northwest Alabama and deer could be hunted with dogs. We had Black and Tans that we used primarily for deer hunting. We would check early each morning for fresh tracks and turn the dogs loose after we’d taken up stands at nearby crossings. On the morning of December 22, 1972, it was just the three of us - Mama, Daddy, and me hunting with the one dog, Sam. We’d found a set of tracks going into a triangular shaped patch of woods bordered by a cornfield. Mama and I went to cover the two other sides and Daddy stayed back where we turned Sam loose. I was wearing one of Daddy’s new coats as this was an unusually cold morning - when Daddy had told me to put it on I asked him wasn’t he worried that I’d get it bloody and he just laughed! Although I had hunted with my parents as far back as I could remember, this was to the be the first time I took up a stand by myself, the chances of me killing a deer didn’t seem to concern Daddy!

Sam picked up trail quickly when released on the tracks, he had such a beautiful full voice and soon announced that he was no longer cold trailing, he had jumped the deer and was headed my way! I didn’t really have time to get excited - or maybe I did and my selective memory has omitted that part - in no time I could hear the deer running on the frozen ground, Sam loudly announcing his arrival closely behind. I shot the buck as he ran through a clearing, and he went down. I do remember the excitement then! Overwhelming! Weak legs, shaking knees, proud, scared........ Sam got to the buck just as I did, Mama shortly after. There he was, dead, one round of #3 buckshot from my Mama’s Winchester model 12 20 gauge. Mama said, "Don’t let him get away, I’m going to get your father". For the next several weeks, that was all I could talk about - always starting with "I heard him coming"... He was an eight point and that makes him sound bigger than he was. Even with my small hands, I can easily touch the right antler with my little finger and the left with my thumb (at his widest point). Mama and Daddy had him mounted for me. Mama gave me the 20 gauge I took him with. The deer head hung on my dorm walls in college, has had a proud place of prominence in each of the homes we owned over my husband’s 20+ year military career and now hangs with other mounts we’ve taken and bought over the many years that have passed. Sam died when I was a senior in college, Daddy was buried on my 26th birthday. I never hunt without spending time fondly remembering the times we shared.

Almost 30 years later found me very happily married with a wonderful 14-year-old son and blessed further with Mama living with us in North Dakota. While I did not like the fact that you had to draw a tag to hunt deer or turkey there, the state did do a wonderful thing to encourage youth hunters. After successfully completing a hunter’s safety course, hunters age 14 and 15 that had not taken a deer were afforded a special youth hunt. Youth hunters are allowed the luxury of deer hunting in September before any of the adults take to the fields and before the extreme weather winter sets in.

Through our own hunting, we had made friends with a farming family outside of Towner, North Dakota. They own a paradise for deer and turkey, beautiful farmland with a river, alfalfa fields, and good cover. Jeremiah, our son, had turned 14 in July and was the holder of a youth permit.

Greg, my husband, had been bow hunting the farm. In 1998, he tried a "new technique" where he took his 3D-archery target (we call him "Bucky") and used it as a decoy... He had outfitted "Bucky" with an old mule deer cape and replaced his original antlers with a more intimidating rack from our collection - ugly would be a compliment to this, but other deer didn’t perceive him to be so! The farmer actually saw bucks running toward "Bucky" when Greg set him out. He had bucks come up stiff-legged and neck bowed approaching "Bucky" ready to fight. Greg has high standards on the deer he takes, as a hobby taxidermist; he only wanted a trophy or very unusual animal. The typical respectable bucks came in to inspect "Bucky", but Greg had not seen any that sparked his interest. On an afternoon hunt, Greg had watched patiently as several little bucks came in followed by three bigger ones. The big boys were 8, 10 and 12 pointers, all still in velvet. He decided that the 12 point was big and unusual enough with his forked brow tines to take. He got so excited that he could not even pull his bow back! He was still pumped over this buck after driving two hours to get home!

His plans to go back out after this buck changed when he thought about Jeremiah being the holder of a youth tag. Greg decided not to even go back out until he could take Jeremiah during the youth season. Regulations require that an unarmed parent (or responsible adult) accompany the youth hunter. There was only 1/2 day of school on the first day of the youth season. As soon as Jeremiah got home from school, we all loaded up and headed out east for his big hunt! Jeremiah had been out to the farm before and had made friends with one of the family pets. The little dog wanted to follow Jeremiah and Greg to the alfalfa fields, so I had to lure him away with me. I walked to the backside of the farm with the dog while Greg and Jeremiah went their way. Mama stayed at the truck and waited. Since it was Greg out with Jeremiah, I cannot accurately report what they did, I do know what Mama and I did. Walking with the little dog I saw deer and turkey everywhere, Mama could see much the same from the truck. We were doing the same thing, listening and waiting for a shot.

The shot came just before dark. I ran back to the truck and tried to wait with Mama, but we couldn’t! I slowly eased the truck toward the fields (as slowly as you can ease an F350 diesel), the dog running in head of us. There they were, Greg and Jeremiah smiling ear to ear. Jeremiah had taken the 12 point that Greg had been unable to pull back on. I was more excited and proud than I had been so many years ago when I had taken my first deer! I thought of Daddy and smiled, knowing what he had felt that day.

Jeremiah had killed his deer with my rifle. Growing up, I had always dreamed of having a Weatherby and Greg had given me a Weatherby .270 as an anniversary present. I gave it to Jeremiah. This was such a happy and special time for all of us. We were all together, all proud, excited - my mother perhaps more so than any of us. Maybe it doesn’t really matter who’s first it is...