Just Call Me 'Wendy the Hog Slayer'

I'm not really a hog hunter.  I'm a deer hunter that hates hogs.  They petrify me.  When I have to get out the stand and walk by myself to the truck at night, the mere thought that there may be hogs in the woods surrounding me makes me shake.  It makes me want my daddy.  I start to walk faster and faster using my iPhone as a flashlight, turning it from side to side to ward off any unwanted creatures.  The smallest noise (usually an armadillo) will make me dart off in a run until I reach a clearing.  Then I act all cool like nothing scares me.  My shaking knees tell on me, though. 





When I'm tall in an oak tree, however, nothing can touch me -- except those pesky jet-like buzzards, but that's another time and place.  Hogs can't touch me, at least.  I have all the power in my hands.  I'm sitting up high and being all sneaky so no animal sees or hears me.  When I see a deer, I'm extra careful to move slowly and not let any of my instruments clank against each other. I feel very powerful when I'm in a tall tree.  So, when a herd of hogs (is it a herd or pack or pride or gang or what?) came strolling into my corn in front of my tree, I pulled out "deer mode" and executed my motions ever so diligently. 

Again, I really hate hogs.  I wanted to take everyone of them out so I didn't have to worry about them snooping around in my "neck of the woods" anymore.  I pulled back my bow and nailed the largest hog in the bunch.  I knew I stuck it hard.  So hard, actually, that it went all the way through the hog.  I watched as it zigged and zagged through the woods and out of my sight. 

I tried to tell Tate I had gotten it so he could help me look for it.  I was not getting out of that tree and looking for a wounded and angry hog.  No sir-ee.  Tate had dropped his phone out of the stand and came to get me after he checked the message.  We had no real flashlights, so I used the flashlight app on my iPhone and Tate had a little dinky one that had been thrown in his truck.  Of course, Tate was frustrated that I hadn't already found the hog before it got dark. Again, I was not looking for a wounded hog in the thick of the woods by myself.  Not happening. 

Tate, like his dad, doubles as a blood hound.  Seriously, it's amazing.  He can spot the tiniest drop of blood on the underside of a leaf like no one else can.  It's why I love him.  I followed a foot behind Tate as he crawled on all-fours spotting blood and calling it out.  After a time, we came to an impass.  Tate couldn't find anymore blood and I was charged to sit there and keep an eye on the last blood that he spotted.  He finally walked off to find anymore traces of blood.  As we traipsed across the crispy leaf-covered ground, I shined my flashlight behind where he had been standing.  I just chuckled and said, "There it is."

"More blood?" he asked. 

"The hog," I smiled.  He just laughed and said that he felt like an idiot for standing there for so long and never looking behind him.  To his credit, it was up against a tree in a thorny vine patch. 

Tate gutted the hog on the spot.  That was DISGUSTING.  Not only were the inerds pretty disturbing, the smell was awful.  Hellacious.  That was the first animal I have ever been forced to watch be gutted.  I was forced because I had to hold the legs.  Gag. 

That's the hog story.  I hope the next story is about the monster buck I let go.

Hunting Trip #3

After what happened Friday afternoon with the whole tea incident, I decided to dehydrate myself before going into the deer woods.  Smart, right?  Although I was aching for water when I got home each trip, I didn't have anymore panic attacks.  Haha. 

So, I hadn't seen much deer activity until last night (Sunday).  I had almost opted out of going hunting after waking up from a groggy nap.  Looking back now, I'm not sure what I should have done.  The story goes like this:  I sat there in that gosh forsaken tree that pokes into my back and causes me to sit crooked in a concave seat for hours.  Dusk started to set in when I heard deer coming from the south.  I could tell it was more than one, thinking it was probably a couple of doe looking for corn. Then I saw a buck circling around behind me.  Then I saw a second buck.  And then a third.  I lost sight of the first buck and bent over to catch a glimpse of the second.  As I did, I laid my eyes on the first buck, standing directly under my tree limb -- the most gorgeous buck I'd ever seen alive and not on tv.  My heart started pounding almost seemingly out of chest and my hands started sweating.  I slowly leaned back and watched.  The first buck ran at the second, must smaller, buck to run him off of the corn.  As he did, I attempted to draw back my bow.

Here's the back story on that.  A couple of nights ago Tate tightened my bow and I had only practiced pulling the extra five or so pounds back a couple of times.  So, you can imagine that it was a little difficult.  Then factor in that I was sitting down.  That makes it a little harder to pull back steadily.  Now, if you've never been hunting, there is one thing you have to know so I don't sound like a total wuss.  The second you lay eyes on a buck your muscles forget how to work.  The bigger the buck the worse.  You don't shake and shiver, your muscles just turn to Jell-O.  It's very frustrating.

So, I made my first attempt at drawing back the bow.  Failure.  When I let the string back, the arrow fell through the rest, making a clinking noise.  Then I had to push it back through, which caused another clink.  The deer didn't like that, obviously.  But, they allowed me to try to pull the bow back another three times, with clinking at all, before they walked away.  And, I must tell you, that buck was giving me the most beautiful broadside shot.  He probably knew I was too weak to shoot him.  As he walked away I hung my head in shame.  Then, about one minute later I heard him coming back, alone this time.  Dang it if he didn't traipse right back in that perfect profile position not 15 yards away.  Again, I drew back my bow, or tried.  Didn't happen.  It clinked.  I began to draw back again when he turned his head up to the tree and stared me in the eyes.  Gulp.  I'm done.  He's seen me and I'll never see him again.  I let the bow down and he turned, nonchalantly, and walked into the woods.  I made a final attempt at pulling the bow back, and wouldn't you know it, I got it all the way back and was steady as could be.  The problem?  His rear-end was the only thing in sight and fading fast.  I lost him.  I was, and am disgusted with myself. 

Shooting light passed and began climbing out of the tree.  I was thinking on the way down (before I hooked my leg on the tree step) that I shouldn't even tell Tate, but I knew we had the entire encounter on the trail camera and he would see what happened.  Sure enough, there was this grandious buck looking straight at me like I was the world largest loser.  And then Tate looked at me like I was the world's largest loser.  And I feel it, too. 

Of course, I got the lecture about how I should have been pulling the bow back.  Then he made fun of me the rest of the night.  And he threatened to take over that hunting spot so he could get the buck.  Tate, in case you don't know, doesn't make mistakes like that.  He doesn't screw up in hunting and nothing embarrassing has happened to him.  I threatened that if I found out he was in that stand or he shot that deer there would be major problems. 

I don't think I scare him. 

Bow Season Opener

Today was the opening day of bow season.  All week I was so excited, I could hardly wait for today.  Today the weather was absolutely gorgeous and, although I was bogged down in heaps of tasks at work, I was in a super mood.  I even took off work a couple hours early to come home, get all camo-ed up and get my gear together.

Tate had been scouting out an area for me to hunt.  He set up a camera and put a tree stand high up in the biggest tree.  He has a pretty wonderful buck on camera that kept coming back each day, mostly in the morning.  To be honest, I'm really suprised he was so unselfish to let me in that stand knowing what I could potentially shoot.  It makes me question his faith in my shooting ability.  I can confidently say that I have improved drastically since I shot the a/c.  And I don't shoot without my contacts anymore. 

So, we grabbed some teas at the local store and around 5:15p.m. I made the climb to the stand.  By the way, I hate climbing trees.  I abhore climbing trees.  I always make Tate stay there until I get up so he can catch me if I fall.  And to tie my bow to the rope and send it up.  The trunk of the tree was sticking straight into my back and made for a very uncomfortable evening, but I was determined to as still and quiet as possible so I could shoot that buck.  The swarming, blood-sucking mosquitos made that quite difficult, but I  tried my hardest.  I waited.  And waited.  I waited even more and did not see a thing.  Once I heard something behind me in the woods that sounded like an animal falling, but I never heard anything afterwards. 

Then the medium half-sweet tea I drank on the way to the deer woods started to kick in.  When it got to flowing through me, it went full steam.  I started squirming and trying to think of anything but my bladder.  It just got worse as I tried to sit back, then sit forward, then move my feet.  Nothing was helping ad I didn't know how much longer I could stand it.  I really wanted to make it til dark, but the tea was closing in. 

All in one instant panic set in and I HAD to get out of that stand.  I started feverishly attempting to get my quiver hooked back onto my bow, but I was shaking and freaking out and couldn't get the job done.  Finally, I just halfway hooked the quiver to the bow, tied the bow to the rope and let it drop.  I stuffed the release in my pocket and shimmied down the tree.  I have never gotten out of a tree so fast, especially without Tate's help.  At that point the only thing I could think was, "Well, if  I fall I'll at least get to pee."  I didn't fall.  I grabbed my bow, quiver and my camera at the base of the tree and took off for the clearing.  Although I desperately had to relieve myself, I didn't want to do it near my hunting station.  I got into the clearing found a cluster of trees and went to squatting.  What sweet relief. 

This is just not very mannerly of me at all, is it? 

Anyway, I finished my business and felt much better.  I pulled up my drawers and as I turned around to grab my bow I saw three does staring at me.  What a sight I must of been.  Defeat was written all over my face.  The first doe started blowing and I just shrugged my shoulders and took a seat until Tate came to get me.  That gave me enough time to wallow in my shame and get my story together to explain to Tate exactly why I had to scram out of that tree.

Lesson learned?  Absolutely, positvely no tea before hunting.

Six Months

Today is Tate's and mine six month anniversary, and wouldn't you know it, he isn't here.  And I can't even call him to remind him.  Six months doesn't sound very long does it?  It seems much longer, but not in a bad way.  It just feels like we were meant to be married, and not in a cheesy-lovey kind of way.  It's just natural for us.  We argue, we solve, we move on, we laugh, we play, we learn.  These first six months have been nothing if not interesting.  I wouldn't do a thing different and I can't wait to see how the next six months (and more) are spent.

Nugent vs. Precious

This past Sunday I bought Tate an Australian Shepherd puppy.  He's a red merle with one green eye and one blue eye and he is absolutely adorable and so loveable!  I picked him up and went to my in-law's house, where Boog, their Jack Russel also resides.  Of course, Boog had to check out the puppy, who I cleverly named Nugent (yes, after Ted), but Nugent wasn't so happy about it.  This fluffy nine-week-old puppy started snarling and growling and snapping at Boog.  I could not believe this little furball was so fiesty!  But, that was only the beggining.

I finally got Nugent home that evening and took him in the backyard to play and potty.  This is the same backyard that Precious, the devilish calf lives.  Well, Nugent got all defensive when he saw the black monster moving towards him and started the same mantra as with Boog.  Precious didn't back down, though, at all.  She started closing in on the pup and the pup started getting nastier.  I got them apart and ran Precious off and all was okay, for the moment.

Now, when Nugent goes outside he strays away from the calf, but she hunts him down.  I'll try to sneak him outside and rush him around to go potty, but every time, I'll see her ugly little head ducked down as she creeps around the corner of the house.  When Precious spots Nugent she starts galloping towards him, turning to kick at him.  I've tried running her off by flapping my arms at her, shooing her and even hitting her over the head with a heavy-duty flashlight, but it's not working.  Each time I try to protect Nugent from the demon-cow she turns on me and starts kicking at me. 

This is not flying with me.  I want her slaughtered.  She's a good-for-nothing pooping machine that fertilizes my backyard and terrorizes Nugent.  I pleaded with my dad last night to come pick her up and make her a guard-cow for his shop.  He thought it was funnier than I did.  I think I may "accidentally" leave the gate open so she'll go play on the highway.  That would only work, though, if it didn't put people in danger.  I'd hate for someone to actually hit her.  I just want her to run away.  Far, far away. 

I won't actually let Precious of of the backyard or slaughter her, I'll just wish I could.  And continue to complain about her.

Melatonin

I travel for my job.  I go to colleges and high schools all over the state recruiting students to come to my university.  Some weeks I'm on the road five or six days.  I like getting out of the office and meeting all kinds of new people, but there's one small, well actually rather large, problem.  I fall asleep while I'm driving.  No one can figure out why.  It only happens between about 10a.m. and 6p.m.  All other hours I'm completely fine to drive.  The other wierd thing is, if I start to nod off while I'm driving and pull over or switch drivers, I'm completely alert.  It's like when moms take their babies on car rides to get them to go to sleep.  Driving does that to me.  So, understandably, you could see where I wig out a little bit about my chosen career (even though if I really had an option at this point, I would not have chosen this as my career). 

Because my traveling season is in full swing and I've already had a couple of dozing off incidents, I visited a doctor to try to find a solution.  She told me to start taking melatonin.  Because my crazy dreams often keep me from getting a good night's rest, melatonin should help me sleep deeper.  If you aren't familiar with melatonin, it's a chemical formed in your body that helps you sleep better.  You can get melatonin over the counter at Wal-Mart or Walgreens or anywhere like that.  We crossed our fingers and hoped it would help.

The first night, I took it about 30 minutes before I went to bed.  I was so drowsy that I could barely think straight or hold a coherent conversation.  As I slept, I had a very horrible dream.  It really upset me and I immediately tried to forget the violence that unfolded in my unconscious state.  The next night I was on the road and stayed in a hotel about two hours away from home.  I took the melatonin again and had the worst dream of all time.  Let me rephrase that:  the worst NIGHTMARE of all time.  It was an unspeakable sequence of events that made me sick in the morning when the memory of it crept up on me.  I never uttered a word of it to anyone and I never, ever will.  It was disgusting and violent and malicious and disturbing.  I decided right then it was the melatonin talking.  I was swearing it off.  It wasn't helping me sleep, it was making the dreams exponentially worse. 

A couple nights later, though, I decided to give melatonin another shot.  Just one more chance.  I have taken it about five nights since then and it's working like a dream.  Or, rather, not a dream at all.  I'm falling asleep faster, sleeping more peacefully, and waking up more alert.  I'm not doing any crazy hallucinating like some meds make you do, or sleeping so deeply that normal things don't wake me up.  So, I'm pretty happy with it now.  I'm still having dreams, but they aren't scary or crazy.  They are still wierd, don't get me wrong, but not like they have been.  I'm not really remembering them anymore, either.  I can remember having dreams and maybe one small thing like where I was or who was in it.  It's definitely been great to have such peaceful sleep of late, though.  I haven't been on the road extensively since this last round with the melatonin, so I don't know how effective it is at keeping me awake during the day, but I'm really praying it does the trick.

If you have trouble getting your best night's sleep, I'd definitely recommend getting you some melatonin.  I've also heard that drinking cherry juice helps, too. Cherry juice may contain lots of melatonin.  I'm going to look into that.

Shot the A/C

Well, if you know me at all, you know I have terrible eye sight. Absolutely awful.  On top of this, my right eye has some kind of allergy that is prohibiting me from wearing contacts or seeing well at all, so I've been stuck wearing my glasses, which doesn't exactly thrill me. 

A couple of nights ago, I decided I was going to shoot my bow using Tate's handy-dandy indoor shooting range.  Tate had spent several days cutting arrows down for my bow and fletching them with purple veins, and I was excited to try them out.  Tate was still working on something in the living room, so he didn't hover over me while I was preparing to shoot.  I thought that I would be able to see just as well with my glasses on as with my contacts, but I was so wrong.  When I tried to focus on the pin and the target, I was having a very hard time making sense of what was what  through all the blurriness.  I focused on what I thought was the middle of the target and let the arrow fly.  Instead of hearing the normal dull thud of the arrow hitting the target, I heard a much louder, sharper ping.  I slowly lowered the bow and looked to the target for my arrow, still hoping, maybe, it was there. 

When I realized that my arrow was not at all on the target -- anywhere -- I let out an exasperated, "Oh, no."  At this point, Tate still didn't know what was going on, so I quietly laid my bow and remaining arrows on the washing machine and tip-toed into the mother-in-law room where the target was located.  I looked around the room for the black-and-white striped arrow and found the purple veins sticking out of the window unit.  Now, before you scoff too much, the target was white and overlapping the window unit, and, interestingly enough, the window unit is not in the window at all, it's mounted in the lower bottom of the wall.  So, for someone who can't see at all, it's easy to get confused.  Luckily, the sawed-off arrow went through the very bottom of the a/c and didn't hurt it. 

Now, I had to tell Tate.  I jerked the arrow out of the a/c frame and shook my head as I saw the split wood.  The tip had been shoved far into the arrow.  I very slowly started to trudge back to the living room.  With my head hanging low and my eyes barely lifting up, I handed Tate the arrow and explained what happened.  Contrary to my prior judgement, he didn't get mad or yell or chastise.  He simply asked, "Are you going to put this on Facebook?"  Of course I didn't put it on Facebook!  Everyone reads Facebook!  I'm sharing it with you, though, because not many read my blog and you get a deeper look into my life, anyway. 

My Dear Tate

So I've been married, what, nearly five months now. I'm still discovering new things about Tate everyday and he never ceases to amaze me. Everything new he does makes me laugh. A friend once told us if we had a reality show he'd watch it. Tate would be the only amusing thing on the show. I just want to share some of the humorous things he does.

He moved a calf into our backyard. We have seven acres of pasture that this black monster could roam around freely on, but Tate insists she's little enough to get out of the pipe fencing. So, Precious (named by Tate's grandma) rules the backyard, cohabitating the space with Boomer, our lab/pit mix (and no, he ain't pretty) and terrorizing Rumor, my toy poodle, each time she goes out to potty/play. Another thing Precious does? She stands right outside my window at night and moos. Yep. She hasn't been too bad about it since she's settled in, but it still drives me nuts every time.

One night I hopped in the shower after dinner so I could relax the rest of the night and just chill on the couch with my man. --Oh, this story has nothing to do with Precious, by the way.--As I began to lather up my hair with my favorite shampoo I started to smell bleach. I thought surely I was mistaken, but it started to grow stronger. I jumped out of the shower and started yelling for Tate. He ran into the bathroom and I told him that the water smelled like bleach.

Tate smiled a little devilish smile and said, "Huh. So you can smell that?" He had poured bleach into the well to clean it out, but didn't think he had put enough in there to do anything, definitely not smell it, so he didn't bother with telling me. So, I had to finish washing my hair with bleach water.

After I took my bleach shower, I laid on the couch and let Tate administer an ear candle. Now, if you have never done this there are some things you need to know for this story to really be of any use. You stick the candle through a paper plate to catch the ashes and then you lay on your side, light the sucker on fire and let it take off crackling. Someone needs to be there to watch the progress because you can't see what's going on. I mean, it's stuck in your ear.

So, Tate was assigned to watching the candle. I made the mistake of allowing him to watch the Outdoor Channel while I was under his watch. He gets entirely way too into watching someone else shoot a deer. After a little bit I started to feel the heat. I tugged on Tate's shirt and told him my ear was getting really hot. As he turned around, his eyes got huge and he started to move very quickly.

"Get it out! It's on fire!" He scrambled to get the plate away from my hair, which I could see was basically engulfed in flames. And yes, it did get all the way to my hair. Had it not been for my hair still being damp from the bleach shower a little while earlier, all of my hair would have been gone, as well as my scalp. Ouch. After it was over Tate had a good laugh about it. He is no longer allowed to supervise ear candeling or anything to do with fire and me. He did once hold my face over the fire. I wasn't happy about it, but I would have probably left him if I was left with no eyebrows. And by the way, if you've never used an ear candle but are thinking about it, and I definitely suggest it under the right supervision, be sure to cut it open at the end. It's super gross, but you can see all the good work the candle did with extracting your ear wax.

Well, Tate hasn't done anything overly interesting since then, although he is always up to something. He has been getting up at 4:00 a.m. to go to work for a couple of weeks, so he normally beats me home in the afternoons. When I got home around 5:30 yesterday evening, I couldn't find Tate on the couch fletching arrows, so I went to look for him. I found him in the laundry room with bow in hand. He had constructed an indoor (bow) shooting range that stretched from the laundry room, through the "Man Cave" and into the mother-in-law room. Through the maze of doors sat the target, blocked off from sunlight, as Tate had covered all the windows with blankets and perfectly arranged each part.

People keep telling me I should put my foot down, but I think Tate is too cute. Besides, I may take advantage of the setup to get me a chance at this big daddy that we snapped pics of last yar. And, you know, if this is what makes him happy, then I am more than willing oblige. Each moment with Tate is a true adventure and I can't wait to see where each day takes us.

Back to School

For the first time since I was four years old, I did not have my week long dreams about going back to school.  School started today for the 5,000 undergraduate and some 1,000 graduate students.  I am among the graduate students, but it's just not the same as being a full time undergrad.  I'm only taking one measley on-line course, which hardly compares to the 16+/- hours I took every other semester. 

I am watching students, mostly freshmen, scurrying across campus, searching for their classrooms and visiting the Howdy Fair.  I miss being an undergrad so much!!  I just keep sitting at my computer looking back on all of my first days of class.  I loved meeting the new students and catching up with old friends in my classes, as well as getting together with familiar and not-so-familiar instructors.  I really miss some of those instructors.  And those students.  If I had it my way, I'd be a professional student.  Forget an eight-to-five job.  Just pay me to go to class all day!  That would make me very happy.  I love class, but not when I'm working 40+ hours a week.  Just send me back to the good old days when I went to class, went to my wonderful, laid-back student worker job and then on to my organizational activities in the evenings. 

Speaking of organizations, I really miss being so involved in Chi Omega and the Academy of Communication Arts (ACA).  They kept me so busy, but it was always fun and educational in one way or another.  There is a plethera of other activities I was involved in, but those were the most substantial and they made me feel important.  Haha.  I always need someone to need me. I'm needy like that. 

Those are just my thoughts for today.  I actually miss my yearly dreams.  I'd also like to say "Good luck!" to everyone going back to school.  Go to class and make the best out of each day!