Who says Deer can't tell time?

If I don't leave the house at precisely 3:30 a.m., there's a very good chance I'm going to have coffee with a randy buck every morning. I've learned that the big fella is full of pride and gives ground to no one, unless it's on his terms.

And, he lives in one of the few wooded patches of ground left in town.

I admire the muscle-bound creature. And apparently he must admire me, too, for he's always there, waiting, aloof and yet dignified to see if I'll pay homage to him. And, of course I do; my Jeep lights caress him with brightness, and the downshift of my engine rumbles as I await his morning direction - will he melt into the wooded landscape, or will he saunter down to the river to quench his thirst, preparing to startle the unsuspecting?

It will soon be shotgun season. Unless this big boy ranges quite a way, he's pretty safe. I'm sure some of his relatives won't be as lucky.

A post over at JPG's blog generated some commentary from someone who apparently needs a clue on the way the world works. JPG, a true gentleman, in my opinion, did a marvelous job of putting the guy in his place.

I'll be the first to admit I'm not a hunter. I'm a good admirerer, though. I don't hunt because, quite honestly, I've never learned how. No one has ever thought I needed to know how to shoot a gun or rifle. And, truth told, I've never thought it real appealing to get up at o'dark-thirty and go sit in a boat and be cold and wait for ducks to fly overhead. Same with pheasant. And deer? Hell, if the deer were smart, it wouldn't take them long to figure out that if they stood very still I'd walk right past them and never see 'em even if they were two feet away. Mushroom hunting is the same way. I can't spot them, either. Blame the years of being almost legally blind on that! (I actually do see deer - now.)

I love that my son-in-law hunts. I love it that my daughter overcame her reservations about it and learned how to fix the meat that was brought home. I love it that Patrick follows the Native American custom of thanking the Grandfathers for the bounty given to his family and gives something back to the earth in return for what he's taking.

I raised Springer Spaniels. My Libby was so good at what she was bred for, she'd grab birds in flight out of the air as they flew to the bird feeders. I wish I'd have had someone to take her to field and teach her more about what she was bred to do and how to do it. I didn't have a clue, but I know she'd have been tops. You could see it in her very being.

So, when people begin shooting off their mouths about trophy hunting, I just steam. I'm sure I'd have not been nearly as nice as JPG was. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. People like the commenter haven't figured out where their food comes from. They don't understand that in order for them to have that steak, some animal had to die; an animal that no doubt didn't get the chance to roam, to pick and choose what to eat, to follow the rhythms of the earth cycles. Instead that creature was raised to get as big as quickly as possible, was filled with steroids and additives and vitamins and minerals because by golly, you don't get those things if you live in a confined space for your lifetime. But, they get the posthumous pleasure of knowing that they'll get to pass all those drugs right into the bodies of their killers. Does anyone ever think about why our kids are getting taller, maturing earlier? Can you say...hormones in the food we eat?

Don't get me wrong. I buy a good share of grocery store meat, fish and fowl. But, I think we've lost sight of earning our right to the food we eat. I think that if more people gardened, hunted, fished, and had to clean, cook and process what we eat, we'd not only be healthier, but we'd know how we all work in the scheme of the world.