I went deer hunting with my father-in-engagement (what am I supposed to call him?) on the family land in Connecticut.  With 90+ acres in Maine and another 20 on the way, I thought I had land.  Amanda’s folks have big patches of land all over their town.  Makes mine feel a little cramped. 

Getting a license in Connecticut is HELL.  You have to get them at a town hall; any town hall for a non-resident.  However, town halls in Connecticut are often open very scant hours.  You kind of have to know about it, they mostly don’t have good web-sites. 

Once you show up during business hours, getting a hunting license isn’t too bad.  However if you want to hunt most anything, you need a tag too.  Tags are only good where you plan to hunt.  For example, I wanted to hunt private land, so I bought private land tags, which means I can’t hunt the state forest which abuts much of my in-laws property without spending another $50.

To buy your tags, you fill out an application with your valid hunting license number filled in, plus your SS# (great another place to get my identity stolen) and mail the whole thing and wait six weeks!  Plan B is drive to downtown Hartford, parallel park the extended-cab truck with a push bumper on the front and tow bumper on the rear (ZERO mph bumpers) while a cop watches as he’s grabbing lunch from a barf-wagon and stand in line with all the other idiots who waited until opening day.  It’s kind of like the whole DMV experience.  Portions of the driving test included.

Now to hunt private land in CT, you need written permission on the approved written permission form.  Basically it’s the exact opposite of Maine.  In Maine if it’s not posted, you can hunt on it (and the land owner is protected).  In Connecticut, you treat every piece of land as if it’s posted.

I got back to Union just before Smud (that’s Paul to you) got off work.  Had to call to remember how to get to the tree stand I saw this summer, then scootched my fat ass up it.  It was damp and slick, but comfortable for what it is.

Then the waiting.  I had a lot of time, a few hours anyway to remember what I hate about deer hunting.  It’s the waiting.  Deer hunting is insanely boring.  But no venison, no red meat.

Listen, all you folks who love it, sitting still and being alone is NOT how our stone-age ancestors did anything.  They hunted in groups, often assisted by dogs.  Driving deer or hounding them is how to get back to your inner caveman. 

I heard Smud’s truck pull in and waited for a while it was getting to dusk so I figured I’d better get out of the tree.  You know, I’m clinically diagnosed as clumsy.  After sitting at the base of the tree, I decided to walk out.

Smud and Jerry chastised me for coming out early so I went back.  In the waning minutes of light two deer came into the field.  I shot at the bigger one and as per usual, missed.  We waited for 15 minutes and then went to check to make sure.  No blood, hair, dead deer, or anything to indicate I’d connected.  We searched for about a half hour with no results.

On opening day you could put me in downtown Boston and I’d see a deer and miss it.

Afterwards it was back to the in-laws for pot roast.  Lady and Smud (Emily and Paul to you) are fantastic folks.  I really adore them.  I think that’s important.  If you can’t see yourself (future self) married to your girl’s mother, don’t marry the girl.  She’s going to become her mother (or a reasonable facsimile) and you’re going to have to put up with that.

Anyway, I’m thrilled about my soon-to-be in-laws and would have run away otherwise.  No sense in fighting it.