As these words are written, hunters are celebrating the halfway mark of the gun-hunting season for deer.  I often call this the holiest time on the outdoor calendar, with opening day becoming a grand combination of Mardi Gras, Christmas and Independence Day all rolled into one.

This year has been no exception as all sorts of wild, wacky and wonderful things have taken place during the past week.  Even aside from having been attacked by a covey of songbirds and nearly overrun by a herd of goats, my deer season has been more memorable than those of the past few years.  However, I have one major difficulty that sticks in my craw like an embedded thorn: my gambling problem.

It has been noted that you have a problem with something such as drinking, gambling or redheaded ladies whenever you reach the point of being unable to cease your indulgences voluntarily.  My problem is that I’ve gambled and continue to want more, more and more.

My deer season started late on opening morning.  Due to worldly commitments, I didn’t enter the woods to begin my season until most hunters were already leaving.  I was angry and grumbling, silently cursing my fortunes when something caught my eye: a giant set of antlers tearing through the brush a mere 40 yards away.

I had just stepped into the woods, literally two or three steps from the adjacent field, when I noticed the buck.  Our landowner had mentioned that a “big deer” was living in the area but we had our doubts about his trustworthiness since he’s a fisherman.  I won’t make that mistake again.

This deer was gigantic, a true “wall-hanger” that would undoubtedly climb nicely into the state record book.  And there he was, unhurriedly trotting from the orange-clad idiot carrying a shotgun who had invaded his private domain.

I aimed my gun but made an instantaneous, gut-wrenching decision not to pull the trigger.  The deer was still less that 50 yards away but quartering off through heavy underbrush, a tough shot under clear conditions.  Since I consider the only thing worse than coming home empty-handed is a deer crawling away to die slowly from a horrible wound, I lowered my gun with a silent curse.

I felt good about my decision, except when I felt bad about it; then I felt good again, and then bad.  Good…bad…good….bad….ha-ha, hee-hee, they’re coming to take me away!!

To add insult to injury, two does and a spike buck nearly trampled me as I was leaving that afternoon.  One of the does stood broadside at merely ten paces, staring intently at my partner Ken who had begun walking the field edge at the other end of the woods.  The other two deer were equally transfixed, totally ignoring my camouflaged and motionless silhouette as they worried about Ken.

I decided not to shoot any of these deer, even though I could have possibly used my knife or a large rock to finish off the first doe.  After weighing the variables, I decided to save the does for later in the season and keep my buck tag unfilled in case Bullwinkle and I again crossed paths in the next two weeks.

Unfortunately, as I write this on the one-week anniversary of that opening morning, I have not yet seen another fleck of deer hide.  Ken has seen several but not taken a shot while my gamble has paid off handsomely, if you measure such things in total accumulated  minutes of time spent sitting quietly in the woods.

So, in a few moments after hitting “send,” I will once again head out the door to see if my gamble will pay off in venison or anything else that resembles a deer.  I have considered bringing along an old set of antlers that I could strap onto other quarry, such as a cow or feral goat, if things get really desperate.

So, was the gamble worth it?  Obviously we won’t know the answer until the closing minute of deer season but close friends know my past history in Las Vegas.

Ten years ago, I spent several months using a computer program to teach myself the strategies and tactics of blackjack for an upcoming trip to the casinos in Sin City.  Then, upon my arrival and faster than you can tell the waitress, “I’ll have a light beer, please,” I blew my entire miserly bankroll on 15 consecutive losing hands of blackjack.  It was the last time I bet on anything.

Except deer.

So, by the time you read this, I’ll be sitting in the woods, half-asleep and dreaming of that the giant buck that got away.  I took a gamble and it’s starting to look like Lady Luck is going to high-kick her stiletto heel right into my temple yet again.

You can bet on it.

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