Kirstie Pike
CEO-Prois Hunting Apparel

Another scouting weekend for the elusive Billy.  As always, this was a family affair.  Steve has officially logged another 1/2 hour  with his topo-map-stare-down.  Not sure who is winning yet, but I can tell you that there is not a single nook or cranny in the San Isabel that will not be heartily scrutinized!  I hope that this obsessive-compulsive disorder will fade in the days and weeks following hunting season.  While I am awestruck that he can simultaneously study a map while playing a lively round of Yahtzee, I am fearful that he will remain monosyllabic for the rest of his life.  Indeed- conversation has been replaced with single words, grunts and an occaisional “Uh-Huh”.  Although we miss him…it has been peaceful.

I am amazed at the amount of effort a single family can make to ensure one of their own gets the hunt of a lifetime.  It isn’t the fact that our family can work together to make it happen…no, we stick together and that is not what is amazing.  It is more of an emotional sticking point… I have to admit that I am jealous.   I am not just a little jealous,  I am certifiably, insanely jealous.  I am that kind of jealous that makes a mom gaze upon her 16 year old daughter and consider such thoughts as, “We look enough alike…maybe we can send her to Grandma’s during hunting season…Could I pass as a 16 year old?  Would the jail time be worth it?”.  Yeah…that is the crazy kind of jealousy that drove Glenn Close to simmer a rabbit in the stew pot.  (I sense that when my 14 year old reads this, she will keep closer tabs on her pet rabbit, Bun-Bun)  Is it wrong that I find myself singing Aretha Franklin’s song, ‘R-E-S-P-E-C-T’ in my own version called, ‘J-E-A-L-O-U-S’?  Is it wrong that I throw sideways glances at my daughter and think, “It should be mine.”?  Right or wrong, I have been told that this is an illness and it really isn’t my fault, therefore at least I don’t have to feel guilty about it! 

I am certain our daughters are wondering what has happened to their seemingly normal parents.  A father with zebraskin glasses who grunts at a topo-map and a crazy mother who clicks the light off and on while sitting in the dark listening to Aretha Franklin are not your typical PTA parents.  (Maybe that is why we have never been asked to come to a PTA meeting…) I believe we are not alone out there…I believe all parents who pass the sport and art of hunting on to their children fully identify with our apparent instability.  I have assured our kids that until we are running around the house with tinfoil on our heads and our boots duck-taped on, that we are still sane and competent.

That said, my daughter just informed me that she didn’t need me to feed Bun-Bun anymore…

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