Commentary / Grounded
The buck stops here.
I went deer hunting yesterday. Growing up on a farm, I'd spent my childhood wreaking havoc on gophers, pigeons, and even the occasional coyote, but had actually never been out to hunt deer. I guess I never really cared to...
Today, I was the Spotter. I glassed (not nuked to bedrock :) ) the horizon and patches of brush for antlers, and more specifically, ears, a telltale sign when looking for Mule doe. Only about half an hour after sunrise, I spotted two almost a kilometer out on a rocky hillside, and we began to stalk them; constantly verifying their position, crawling over the rises, and trotting silently through the coulees, flanking them down-wind.
I must admit that at this point I was repeatedly barraged with images of Blood Gulch. Each time I peeked over the crest of a hill I half expected a shot to ring out, sending me scrambling for cover before the second could find its mark. Luckily (and a little disappointingly), deer don't hunt you in return...
Finally, we cleared the final knoll and had a shot, albeit a fairly distant one. The closest laid down on the open hillside and I awaited the crack of the 30-06 round. Suddenly, three more deer rounded the coulee to our right, two doe and a buck, at a range of less than half of the previously considered targets. We quickly and quietly turned and my friend lined up a shot.
Now, as I stated earlier, I grew up on a farm where butchering animals took place somewhat regularly and the cycle of life and death was very commonplace and apparent. I was still surprised by what I saw.
The first shot struck the left-most deer just behind the front leg, tearing through its heart and utterly debilitating it. As it took its final steps our attention had already turned to the other doe in the group. Before it had a chance to react the next round had struck it in a similar spot. Still, blood pouring from its chest like juice dumped from an ice-cream bucket, it managed to break into a run. My comrade fired again, this time at a target in full motion, and still managed to strike it within 6 cm of his first round. It dropped.
For a while I couldn't find the body of the first animal to cut its throat, and was worried that in our haste, we had let a wounded animal escape into the brush. Those worries were quickly replaced with a sense of awe as I discovered the blood trail it had left. Let me tell you, deer bleed more than chickens. A carpet of red guided me down the hillside to its already motionless body. There was nothing left to bleed.
This post is not to begin a dialogue on gun control.
This post is not meant to cause a heated debate on the ethics of hunting for sport in our society.
This post is meant to, if only in the smallest way, remind all who read it once again that when you point a gun at something and pull the trigger, it will never, ever be the same again. If you're out clay-pigeon shooting or plinking pop cans, there is only structural damage to be concerned with. As soon as animate and living things become involved the consequences begin to include not only the material, but in worst cases, horrible, and sometimes almost irreparable emotional damage.
So, laugh your head off when you nail an Elite with the shotgun and put him on his back. Chuckle with pride as three Grunts in a row chirp their last from consecutive head shots. Just keep in mind that although the weapons you are using in-game often bear a striking resemblance to those in reality, the relation ends there; they are mere homonyms. No matter what your background or opinion, firearms are something to be, at the least, held in the utmost respect. Keep things straight.
Kill all Covie bastards, but love your neighbor as yourself.
-Finn
