<
>

Doughnuts, Deer and Don Barone

11/16/2007

Are you nuts about this deer hunting blog thing?

I live in freakin' Connecticut. You know: New York City's sixth borough.

We just got Wal-Mart, and it was a fight; we had Krispy Kreme, but they closed.

Is it even possible to hunt for deer without glazed or jelly-filleds?

I imagine I could go through a Starbucks drive-through on my way to the hunt. (Lattes take the edge off 12-gauges.)

Here's the Connecticut rules on the politically correct way to
30-ought-something.

Dude, they are freakin incomprehensible, which is probably the point.

My guess is if you are new to the state, meaning anyone who got here not by way of the Mayflower, I think they have to have a town meeting, and two townwide votes to decide if you get bullets or not.*

* (That's because no one ever shows up for the first vote until they realize, Holy Crap, this stupid thing may pass, so I better go vote against it — NOW.)

I'm not sure my town is ready to say "yes" to me and firearms.

I have since been shown to be a moron, as you have come to know. But the state here does me one better, because I scanned the area where if I were a deer, I WOULDN'T go, and found it to be lacking many a great deer hunting areas.

From my scanning of the incomprehensible rules I see they missed a couple of areas like:

    • Soccer fields: Very few soccer sweepers in this state haven't swept up some deer poop on the soccer shoes.

    • Main Street: We have more deer crossing signs around here than school crossing signs.

    • Behind every Dunkin' Donuts: Why stick your nose in some prickly-ass bush for a berry, when there's a jelly donut to be found on every corner? Double this if you, being a deer, move to The Dunkin' Donut state, Massachusetts, where I hear deer actually began.

    • Every garden in the state: In fact, most of us in the blue state never need to leave the house to get our deer limit. Just plant a bush with a berry on it and see what happens. My spare bedroom doubles as a deer blind.

And speaking of that ... I shot two deers [sic] today.

Are deer like Bigfoot?

You don't say, "I saw a herd of Bigfoots today." No, that would be incorrect Outside English — no matter how many Bigfoots you see, you can only call them all Bigfoot.

Same with deer, I think.

I shot two deers today would be wrong Outside English, even though in fact, I did shoot deers. (Maybe just saying, "I shoot two-ones deer," is more correct-like.)

They were eating my Thanksgiving pumpkin pie, while it was still technically my wife's garden pumpkins. Outside English would make me call that, "Pre-Pumpkin Pie in its original container."

I'm touchy when it comes to dessert: Deer, or relatives, for that matter, had better not get between me and the pie.

So I shot them, the two-ones deer. The flash scared a third away. But I still got the picture.

I'll email it to you — db's "two-ones deer."

So tonight I venture out ... for deer, beer, and 25-cent pickled eggs.

(It was the eggs that got me.)

Skip, however, is more interested in the 75-cent beer.

We're going to an American Legion Post. "Deer Nation," hardboiled.

Skip, (whom I picked mainly because he lives on Deer Run Lane, and I figure that damn sure qualifies him as a Deer Nation dude) is trying to get the American Legion to accept him as a member, since the VFW Post down the street declined.

VFW stands for Veterans of Foreign Wars, and since Skip only spent his time in a nuclear sub parked off the coast of Russia, "with no one actually shooting at you," the VFW folks wouldn't let him in.

(In the rules there's some arcane language requiring something along the lines of being on dry land while being actively shot at to qualify for membership. Beats me.)

So he figures if he buys enough beer and eggs, the American Legion guys "have to accept me." Me, well, I'm not so sure.

Inside, I'm told the talk is all about the deer hunt, shotgun style, which began today in Connecticut.

Tonight over eggs and beer, talk of the hunt included stories of "working overtime, so I can take the day to go hunting," and "having hearts in the freezer for special times"; from "trying to make the garage a smoke house," to "hunting buddies and camps, long gone."

So, if you want, I'll join this "Deer Nation" blog thing, even though, like my hero Bowman, I have no idea how to actually blog.

If you let me in, the pickled eggs are on me.

— db


Is Don Barone's jelly doughnut deer baiting affecting wildlife down the East Coast?
We wonder. Judge for yourself, here.

Don Barone is a feature producer for ESPN and a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association. Other stories of his are available on Amazon.com. You can reach him at Don.Barone@espn.com.