11/18/2025
For those that know me, I love my family, I love my dogs, and I love to hunt. Yesterday those three things all came together at the same time and gave me 24 hours that I would not trade for anything.
Sunday I went into work and started my shift at 6 PM finishing at 6 AM Monday morning. I drove home knowing that I had Monday and Tuesday night off. I had every intention of getting a few things done and then sleeping for a couple of hours before my family got home. I told my wife to wake me up so that I would be tired and able to go to bed like a regular person Monday night.
After about an hour and a half of sleep, my phone rang waking me up. It was my oldest boy telling me that my dad had shot a good buck in southern Illinois and might need our Bavarian Mountain Hound, Jola, to help find it. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and began the process of catching up on what I had missed in the morning hunt down near the town where I was born.
My dad had a good buck come in and bed down inside bow range. The longer he looked at it the more he decided it was the one he wanted to fill his tag with. The way the buck was bedded the arrow clipped one of the deer’s hind feet, expanding the broadhead and sending it hurling off the intended mark. Anyone that archery hunts knows these things happen but it doesn’t make you feel any better about it.
With my dad being 70 years old, I know his hunts are limited. The hunts with him that I will get to be part of will be even more scarce. I was already sad about not being able to take the time to go down to Illinois this year, but this gave me the opportunity. I hopped right up and packed my things, grabbed the dog, and set the cruise control. I was going to get there about 12 hours after the shot and just before the rain was supposed to start.
Dad walked myself, Jola, and my two brothers who are down hunting with him, to where he had last seen the deer. Jola has trained hard for this and sorted out the start quickly. She was nose down on a mission through the briars and cockleburs. Just as we tracked up to the dead deer it started to rain. From where she locked in, to where we ended, we never saw a single spot of blood but she was dialed in. Even where the buck had bedded down and died, blood in the CRP was absent.
The deer was loaded into the truck, we handed out some hugs and high fives and I hit the road to head home. I am grateful for the chance I had to be proud of my dad and proud of my dog. I am grateful for the chuckles I had with my brothers and my Southern Illinois friends. I am also grateful for my wife who no doubt thinks our plan was crazy but still let me go.
