On the morning of Saturday, November 5-opening day of deer season-a statuesque blonde beauty strolled out of the trees, pulled down her khaki shorts, and peed beneath Cecil Pritchard’s deer feeder.
“Well, suck a nut,” Cecil said to himself, sitting in his deer blind a hundred yards away. He looked down at his coffee mug, blinking dumbly. Maybe he’d added a little too much Wild Turkey. And this was his fourth cup. But when he looked up again, the Nordic goddess was still there, hiking up her shorts. His brother-in-law would never believe it.
The day had started normally enough. Cecil climbed out of bed at four A.M. sharp, pulled on his camo coveralls, and brewed a pot of Folgers. Nothing gets you going like the smell of fresh coffee, Cecil thought, whistling happily. He would have loved a big plate of scrambled eggs, bacon on the side, and a basketful of biscuits, but Cecil wasn’t much of a cook, and his wife, Beth, was still drowsing in bed. Goddamn woman was as useless as a negligee on a nun. On weekdays, when he’d come home from the machine shop at lunchtime, he’d usually find Beth staring at the soap operas or Jerry Springer on TV, and Cecil would be left to make his own lunch. The way Cecil saw it, that was a serious infraction of the marriage vows. So, as he had prepared for the morning hunt, Cecil made sure to stomp around the mobile home as heavily as possible, kind of get the whole floor vibrating. It’d serve her right if she couldn’t get back to sleep after he left.
He met up with Beth’s brother, Howard, at the ranch gate at five in the A.M., just as planned-plenty of time to reach the blinds before first light. Seeing as how they had a few minutes to spare, Cecil took the opportunity to remind Howard what a lazy, good-for-nothing sister he had. Howard heartily agreed while munching a breakfast taco his own wife had prepared for him. Sorry, I ain’t got but one, Howard said around a mouthful.
The men split up and Cecil proceeded to his elevated tower blind, a beauty he had ordered from the Cabela’s catalog last spring. Once inside, Cecil readied himself for a long, relaxing morning hunt. He loaded his Winchester.270, double-checked the safety, and leaned the rifle in the corner. He pulled out his binoculars and gave the lenses a good cleaning. Then he poured a hot mug of java, added a generous dose of bourbon, and waited for sunrise.
The black night slowly gave way to gray, and then the rolling hills of Central Texas started to take shape. The birds began chirping tentatively and then went into full chorus. Cecil leaned back and soaked it all in. He was sitting twelve feet up, with a view that God Himself would appreciate. Man, this was living! Cecil waited all year for this morning, and he just knew there was a big buck somewhere in the woods with his name all over it.
That’s when Cecil heard a car rambling along the gravel county road that paralleled the ranch’s eastern fenceline. Weeks ago, Cecil had considered relocating his blind, but the road saw such little traffic, he’d decided to leave everything as is.
Looking through his binoculars, Cecil saw a rusty mustard-yellow Volvo easing down the road. It disappeared behind some trees and then the motor faded away. Cecil had thought the occupants were gone for good. But apparently he was wrong.
Now Cecil was staring slack-jawed at the blonde trespasser, knowing that all his preseason plans and preparations were wasted. He was furious. The woman might as well have erected a flashing neon warning sign-DEER BEWARE! — because no self-respecting buck would come within a thousand yards of so much human scent.
Finally, Cecil managed to get over his astonishment and do something. He stuck his head out the small window of the deer blind and yelled, “Hey, lady! What the hell are you doing? Get your ass away from there!”
The tall blonde casually buttoned her shorts, smiled, and flipped Cecil the bird.
Cecil decided enough was enough, and rose to go give the woman a serious tongue-lashing, maybe escort her back to her damn rattletrap car. But as he stood, he spilled his coffee, dropped his binoculars to the floor, and-Goddamn it all! — banged his rifle scope against the side of the blind. Cussing loudly now, Cecil opened the blind door and began to climb down the ladder-only to hear a car door closing and the Volvo gently puttering off into a fine Texas morning.