I’ve never been much of a fan of hunting. Some people wait all year for the season to roll around and spend hundreds of dollars on equipment and licensing only to wait hours, days – even weeks for an animal to cross their path. The activity seems rather passive in my opinion. Then again, I guess you could say I’m passive for passing on the passive activity.

Regardless, as an animal lover, the concept of hunting is difficult for me to think about, let alone see. My heart goes out to the deer strapped to the top of a vehicle. I can’t help but be disgusted by the hooves overhanging the sides of a truck, and as much as I love pictures, can’t stand looking through photos of hunters holding up the head of their dead buck, or, even worse, standing next to a gutted version of the animal. The poor thing!

However, my perception has changed slightly over the last few years. I’m still not a hunter, and probably never will be, but I’m not anti-hunt anymore. One specific event changed my view.

I was cruisin’ (or should I say trudgin’?) home in the good ol’ Geo at a swift pace of nearly 70 mph. A Yukon the size of an ambulance passed me with enough vigor to nearly push me off the road.

As they passed me, I caught a glimpse of a deer in the median. Since coming into contact with anything larger than a ladybug had the ability to total my go-kart of a car, I immediately slowed down, only to see the Yukon smother this deer. The carcass flew up in the air, resembling the motion you might see in outer space. It projected into the darkness above the light that headlights provide. I cringed, half-way expecting the remains to come to rest on the top of the Geo. However, its landing was not visible to me. The Yukon continued to barrel down the interstate. They didn’t swerve an inch. They didn’t slow down.  In fact, their brake lights never even lit up. Come to think of it, they probably didn’t even realize they had just murdered Bambi. Their vehicle was so large, they could plow through a pack of moose without much of a disturbance.

I, on the other hand, was not okay. Considering the Geo is about as sturdy as an aluminum can, I became afraid to exceed 20 mph.  Eyes the size of quarters, lids expanded, I engaged in a continuous effort to seek out Bambi’s friends and family before I became roadkill.

That night, I decided deer hunting was probably a good thing. Without hunting, the population of deer would reach an extreme amount, meaning we’d see even more of them on our highways, dead or alive.

I’m now terrified of driving at night, with the scene of the flying deer constantly running through my mind. In comparison, the images of happy hunters and dead deer suddenly became rather glamorous.

With that being said, go get ‘em hunters!

Shootin’ the Wit is a weekly column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.

[email protected]

I’m a writer and photographer who loves old cars, big dogs and trying stuff for the first time. I believe everyone should have a bucket list because life isn’t about working, paying bills and having the latest and greatest. It’s about experiences. Achieving goals. People. Adventures. Travel.

I’ve never dyed my hair, broken a bone, or watched a Star Wars movie, and I don’t plan on doing any of these.