Trust in the beautiful simplicity that is held in your hands.
Snow falls gently over everything and tiny pools of water begin to form on the well oiled gunmetal that your father showed you how to take care of.
Loaded with one, and only one, yellow 3 inch slug.
Accurate up to 100 yards, you estimate what the effective range is- trying to
picture a football field and the in zone.
If it’s in the in zone or closer, you have a shot.
If it’s farther you’re compromised.
If it’s running you’re compromised.
If it’s running really fast you’re compromised.
You have a short list of ways that shot isn’t possible.
There is another list of ways that you’re compromised that you don’t even know about yet.
Ways you’ve never even heard of.
Like if its jumping over a fence- you’re compromised.
Or if its running right at you- you’re compromised.
Most people think that hunting is like shopping at a grocery store.
You’re just being a provider.
Everything is about odds and trying to deal with the chaos that is about to happen in a single condensed moment.
Cold weather.
Snow.
A single chance to pull the trigger and have decent odds of putting a deer down.
The other guys have done their job.
Two fast shots ring out from the oak grove before the corn field.
Another.
The first two were twenty gauge. The second was twelve.
The hammer gets pulled back. The gun is old enough that a secondary safety doesn’t exist.
Three patches of brown pop out and contrast with the snow.
If you take more than one shot, the odds of your second hitting are slim to none if the deer is running.
You shoulder the gun. It’s hard to do with the large coat you’re wearing.
Another twelve goes off. Then two more twenties.
They’re at the end of the row, headed towards the road- and away from whatever the fuck is trying to kill them.
Another twelve.
And its you.
You can’t tell if time is speeding up of slowing down.
Of course it’s the crossing shot.
Follow through. Squeeze don’t pull. Accuracy counts. You only have one shell.
