A Chick with a Bow

Clint walks in the house the other day just as I was about to drift off for my Sunday nap. Don't you hate it when that happens? I do. Nap time for me is a very sweet and very precious time, especially since being a mother, they are exponentially very sweet and very precious times. Naps are necessary to keep up with the limitless amount of energy my child possesses. Sometimes I think he has an extra battery pack implanted in his body somewhere. What demented person implanted that battery pack in my child? They better hope I never meet them in a dark alley somewhere. Just kidding... kind of...

I was hoping Clint would see me with my eyes closed and let me be... but he didn't.

He said, "Come in here, I got your birthday present!" "What is it?" I grumbled back because in all honesty, I didn't give two hoots about what he had, even if it was a present, well unless it was going to be a bob-tailed kitten that I asked for. I trudged into the living room to see him holding a hunting bow and a set of arrows.

"Oh... Wahoo... you got yourself another bow. Happy Birthday to me..." I said in my very exaggerated, very not-impressed voice and turned around to go flop myself back in bed.

"No, it's yours! I got it so we can go hunting together."

I stopped dead in my tracks and tried to scan my brain for any memory in my life that I told him that I wanted a bow so I could go hunting with him. I dug deep, really deep, in my brain but came up empty. Did I tell him that in my sleep? I talk in my sleep alot.

Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate the gesture. I will gladly accept gifts, unless it is a snake. Don't ever give me a snake, unless you want a dead snake. I was just having a hard time figuring out why my request for a bob-tailed kitten was ignored and he took it upon himself to think that a bow is what I really meant. I don't know about you but a bob-tailed kitten in no way, shape or form should translate into a bow.

I forced myself to paste on a smile. The last thing I want to do is hurt my sweet husband's feelings. I told him how cool it was and how I can't wait until hunting season starts so I can wake up at 3 am, take a shower and wash with no scent shampoo and soap, and then put on my camo gear, trek out to the deer stand in the freezing cold, sit on a little bitty chair in the deer stand that my butt is sure to feel oh so comfy on, and be quiet for hours until I see something to shoot. That = fun. Not.

Just when I thought I appeased him enough so I could get back to my nap he said, "You wanna go shoot the target?"

"I would love nothing more." I said convincingly. I think I said it convincingly. I hope I said it convincingly.

So I pulled my shoes on and when I went outside he had the target all set up and my bow ready to go.


I strapped the release on my hand and clipped it on to the pull string, or whatever it's called. I put the arrow into the whisker biscuit. Now I know that it's really called that. I can't help but giggle everytime I hear that. It sounds like something you would call your sister. "Stop wearing my clothes, you whisker biscuit!"

I pulled back on the string and then reality hit. I could barely pull back the bow. Am I that out of shape? Yep!

Clint told me, "You better get a grip because I can't turn it down any lower." Awesome. After about 20 tries (seriosuly) I finally got my rhythm down to where I was able to pull that sucker back. I put my lip to the kisser button (This is a real thing too, I'm not making it up. All these names are a clear indictation that a man gave them their names.) Look through the sight and let 'er rip! I hit the target dead on where I was aiming.

From that moment, I was hooked. I have shot guns before and I love it. There is something about firing a gun that is powerful and stress-relieving. I didn't think there was no way I would get the same feeling with shooting a bow.

I loved shooting it so much that Clint made me come inside from shooting at the target because he said my arm would be really sore the next day if I didn't stop. It was. Really sore. Like can hardly put my purse over my shoulder sore.

I have officially caught the bow hunting itch! I want to go to Cabela's and buy up the whole store to get my pack prepared. I can't wait to go buy all of my camo stuff, and face paint, and no scent smelly stuff. My only fear is that I shoot something just bad enough to injury it and it has to gimp around and be hurt. Then I will feel awful. I hope that doesn't happen though.

It's not a bob-tailed kitten, but I think Clint did a pretty good job on picking out my birthday present! Thanks honey! I don't know how he does it all the time but he picks out the best gifts.

I guess now you can be expecting hunting stories and pictures on the blog in the future.

Do you hunt? I want to hear a funny or entertaining story from you. Don't forget that the blog now has it's own email address: lifeaskaciknowsit@gmail.com Whoop whoop! Big timin'! So email me or comment below with your stories. I can't wait to read them!

Over and Out!
Kaci