Kickass, the doorstop dog, says the keeper, having been reared on the edge of the north woods, grew up to consider the deer season as the emotional apex of the year, and when he got old enough (14) to participate he thought he had died and gone to heaven, which he believed back then was an actual place where “good” people hung out after they died–playing cards, whittling and listening to accordion music.
Well, things change. The entire state is now a great sheep pasture for whitetail deer, and shooting one, in the keeper’s estimation, is akin to smacking grandma with a spitball. With the advent of baiting, food plots, fenced “hunting” preserves and other “advances” the domestication of deer will soon be complete and maybe we can start milking them and change the state car license plate to read “American’s Deeryland.”
Kickass says the keeper gets a bit carried away sometimes, but he is so happy he no longer hunts deer that he may spend the “opening” weekend celebrating at a lutefisk dinner. Or, maybe not. Maybe with just a bit of Korbels while listening to accordion music.