‘Tis the time of year again when my husband begins that annual ritual of “going hunting”.  Wives of hunters everywhere are giggling.

It can be dove hunting, deer hunting, or mosquito hunting … it really doesn’t matter what you call it or where this activity is to take place … they love it.  What’s funny is that it’s not really the hunt they love so much, but everything else that goes with it.

Months before deer season, they begin putting out sacks and sacks of corn, for instance.  They think it’s fun.  They spend days building a deer blind with vigor.

They make many, many trips to the sporting goods store to pick up all the little knick-knacks they “need”.  Sporting goods stores are fun, too … candy stores for grown men.  They spread out all their stuff with excitement, like they’re going to summer camp for the first time. 

They even like to go to the grocery store in preparation for the weekend.  It’s the only time in the world that you see men in grocery stores with smiles on their faces.

The day of the first hunt finally arrives, and the guys are like little kids going to Astroworld.  There’s a sparkle in their eyes and a bounce in their step.

They like reverting to their caveman instincts.  It’s not that they hate being home with the family, but when they’re with other cavemen, they get to do stuff we won’t let them do:

• They eat manly food.  You won’t find much quiche at a deer camp.
• They get to pick up that last piece of steak with their hands and gnaw at it. 
• They get to belch and pass gas at will. 
• They get to go to bed at wake up whenever they feel like it. 
• They get to take naps. 
• They get to talk about sports for however many hours they feel like it. 
• They don’t have to take a bath for days.  They can if they want, but they don’t have to.

• There may or may not be nightly poker games involved.
• They get to go hunting.  This is not required, though.

I love the story my brother-in-law tells about going hunting.  For years, he and a bunch of his college buddies have gotten together one weekend every winter for the “annual hunt”. The menu is planned out weeks in advance.  They have caps or shirts printed for each hunter.  Yearly newsletters are sent out to remind the hunters of the dates for this ritual.  Entire families now plan their lives around this weekend.

All this takes place on a little piece of property of about 20 acres, so we all know that not much hunting goes on.  One year several new guys were being invited to join the group, so the newsletter went something like this:

“Mark your calendars for the Seventh Annual Deer, Duck & Goose Hunt!  January 4-7.  And remember … NO GUNS ALLOWED!”

I rest my case.