We were so redneck, my brothers and sister and I, that when money went short we’d go coon hunting. I’d even climb trees to get raccoons. I was taught how to shoot, we all were, by my father. My sister and I were also taught how to fight be him. One day he took us behind the barn and said, “Those boys are getting the best if you. It’s about time you learned how to fight,” and he showed us how to punch and wrastle.
I was the youngest, so I went hunting with binoculars and by ears and nose. I could smell a dear. You might not believe me, but I could and my brothers would fight over who took me with them. That’s all right, you can doubt it—my father did, said it was nonsense, that I was just lucky and had good eyes, that no human could sniff out a dear.
Then one day, Dad was taking me for a ride around the property on our horses and when we came to the crick where the trees grew thick, I said, “Dad, there’s a dear in there. You might want to ready your gun.”
He blew me off and when we headed down the trail to cross the crick and there it was, a steaming pile of dear shit, its owner not a moment away and all he could say was, “I’ll be damned!” From that point on none of my brothers got to take me hunting. My dad said, “You boys need to work on your skills and not use your sister for a crutch.”
Of course, that wasn’t the end of my hunting days. Dad took me every time he went a hunting, for the rest of his days.
-Jenny
A Once Great Medieval City: 2016: Impressions of Baltimore Maryland
That's good story. Made me smile.