I'LL TAKE WHAT I CAN GET

When you videotape a fawn peacefully walking across your front yard, dub in some heavy artillery followed by a crowd cheering for its successful escape, then post it on YouTube under the title “Ted Nugent Visits My House,” you’re bound to get a few NRA / Hunting Enthusiasts cussing you out. They assume you’re anti-hunting, anti-gun. I sometimes wonder: If I dubbed in a crappy new song by the Motor City Madman would they have given me the benefit of the doubt, that I’m poking fun of the Nuge?

I remember my first year of hunting, my uncle and I slung the hindquarters of a deer on our shoulders and headed back to camp. We explained that it was too difficult to drag the carcass out of the swamp. “We took what we could get,” I said.

My answer seemed plausible, dusk came quickly. However, my brother, not buying it—he never gave up on a potential kill, and a few days later, with ammo flying, made hamburger out of a spiked buck wheezing on the river bank—questioned our story.

We fessed up. It was a doe, like we had mentioned (the story wouldn’t have been plausible if we had imagined an eight-point buck), and we discovered it bloated and dead. My uncle suggested I practice gutting my first deer. When I stuck the knife in I punctured the sack, releasing a rotten egglike stench. We gagged. Then cut.

That night we cooked venison and ate it, hoping the next day would bring better luck.