What fever you might ask?
Am I one of those horribly clueless parents that is here to brag about how high the fever was? Do I revel so much in the suffering of others that I am willing to poke fun of the imps illness?
Of course not!
Here at the Playground we feel the imps are the center of our universe, to be cherished and loved unconditionally.
However, while we might love and cherish other family members, Playground rules do allow us the occasional chuckle as said family members' misfortune.
Deer Season Is In Full Swing
Now I am not a hunter. Not that I am opposed to the wholesale slaughter of the adult Bambi's roaming throughout our great State. After all, I saw how reducing the kill limits led to starvation and disease that also decimated that population.
So now that I have moved the soapbox onto a pedestal, let's digress and discuss my elder sib's infatuation with 'The Hunt'.
ES.imp has been an avid bowhunter for upwards of 10 years. To date, he has lost 5-8 arrows and made 0 kills. However, this week he came OH SO CLOSE!
Picture sitting for two days in freezing temperatures with body-numbing, cold rain pounding on you as you sit, perched 14 feet in the air on a 3'x4' metal platform. At some point during these 48 hours you might start to question your verve, your desire, your need to chase the thrill. That tiny platform and the nerve-numbing water pellets that ceaselessly beat at your will, sapping your desire, stealing your warmth and then you see it!
Without the slightest whisper it appears. A large buck, the object of your dreams your fantasies, the reason you left the missus alone in her bed three States away, strolls calmly out of the underbrush. NOT.50.FEET.AWAY.
And he does not scent you. In fact, he continues to approach, only to pause when within 15-20 paces. He then then turns sideways, presenting the PERFECT target. Only then, at the moment the arrow is raised...
Yes, ES.imp was struck with the FEVER. He found it impossible to do more than hold the bow and arrow in the air and breath helplessly at his prey.
Then the Buck moved on and action returned to ES.sib's limbs.
There is always next year...
(I have been informed that there is no 'next year' for me tho'. I am reliably informed that my $$ will be spent on skiing equipment. Any deer hunting I do, shall be done with the front end of my vehicle...)