True story.
Sadly, because I have to do that whole work for a living thing, this is one that I did not get to see in person. However, it makes me laugh every time I think about, so that indicates that it's a story worth telling.
My family deer hunts. Since we live in Kansas, this means white-tailed deer. My dad, a damned good shot, bagged himself a decent sized doe. Sweet. Only problem was that it was already dusk. He'd got it down in a creek where he couldn't get the Jeep in (at least, not if he wanted to get the Jeep back out). And, he didn't want to take the time to build a travois, because you know, that takes all of TEN MINUTES. At least, if you don't intend to use it more than once.
So, he hung it up in a tree, off the ground, and he'd come back the next morning when it was light.
This is a common mistake made by many hunters. If you see a hunter standing at a tree scratching his head this is because he left the deer out overnight and the ghosts of the forest claimed their own.
Or, it could be coyotes.
Or a feral dachshund, that most dangerous of beasts. Sure, most of them that you see look cute, furry and totally inefficient for killing anything larger than a mouse.
Oh, and he had his rottweiler buddies, who are not toying with the dachshund as food.
The next morning, upon my father's return, he witnesses that the lower half the deer was completely gone. And the perpetrators were still there, caught red-muzzled. The dachshund
leapt for one last bite. And then, the pack was gone, loping gently on long, muscular legs as if swimming over the amber waves of wheat. Yes, this is an accurate description, because you can't see the dachshund running - you just see the grass moving over its head. It doesn't spoil beauty.
LESSON:
How to spot a feral dachshund on the prairie. Well, it's kind of like finding those pesky rattlesnakes. You have to listen. But, instead of a rattle, you're listening for brush . Also, if you see the grass moving as if something short is meandering through it: WATCH OUT! It may not be a squirrel! The feral dachshund have taken many a wanderer by surprise ankle attack.
You have been warned. Cave Canem.
This is about as funny as the time that the buddies of my dad's buddy up in Wyoming - who had never deer hunted before - literally SHOT the carcass eight times after it was already dead. Simply because they didn't have a knife to let the blood drain out. And yes, apparently, they were sober.
