The Little Hunter

It was about an hour or so before dawn. Mama and Daddy had already had their coffee; mama had packed the lunches she knew would be gone shortly after sunrise. Today it was fried potato sandwiches on white bread with mayonnaise. Daddy had both the shotguns in their cases sitting by the front door waiting to be loaded into the trunk, along with their game pouch vest and ammunition. Everything was ready except getting the little hunter out of bed and ready to go, and daddy knew that wouldn’t take long.

The little hunter had recently passed the required hunter’s safety course and was anxious to be able to use their newly acquired knowledge. Well, not new knowledge exactly. The child had been going hunting with daddy almost since they could walk and daddy had taught them well, but this time they had a card. A real official card they had earned and could carry that told anyone who saw it that they were good enough to be in the woods hunting with daddy. They no longer had to feel like they were just a kid that was tagging along.

Daddy popped his head into the child’s bedroom and said “Alright, hot rod, it’s time to go.” The little hunter didn’t have to be called twice. Right up out of bed and into the clothes they had laid out so carefully the night before. The little hunter started with the small thermal shirt, then the flannel one, thick socks, thermal long-johns, then jeans and the all weather, almost knee high boots. The little hunter grabbed the bright orange vest and a knit cap before going to the kitchen table.
Mama had a cup of homemade hot chocolate and a fresh pear preserve tart ready for the little hunter. Both were hot, but it didn’t slow them down. They were anxious to be going, anxious to be in the woods, and anxious to maybe be able to bring home some game for supper. Daddy said it was to be rabbit hunting today.

With everything loaded into the trunk they were off. They were going to a huge field area down by the lake. They often hunted here, sometimes for rabbit, sometimes quail, or ducks down a bit closer to the lake. It was a familiar area, easy to get to, and never crowded. Most other hunters passed up the small game for the larger animals like deer. This field was just about perfect.

They arrived just as dawn was breaking. Daddy had taught the little hunter how to whistle recently. Not just the carry-a-tune kind of whistle, but the really loud kind of whistle. The child had practiced and practiced all week until mama said enough was enough. Daddy said it would be good to use in case they ever got separated in the woods, so it had to be pretty important. The child showed daddy how good they had become. Daddy said he was proud, but that they needed to keep it a bit quieter for now.

Off they went, the little hunter following daddy, and then finally moving a bit faster to keep up side by side with daddy. The little hunter would, over the years to come, learn to walk in step with daddy. He wasn’t a big man by any means, but he had a long stride and a quick step. As the child grew up, their step became one with daddies. The two of them walking together in the woods would sound like one, step for step.

Sometimes daddy would stop and just listen. He had taught the little hunter all the little sounds of the woods and fields. He taught them how to watch the top of the grasses for movement that wasn’t the wind. He taught them how to look for the rabbits under the edges of the brush. The little hunter soaked up everything daddy said like a little sponge. Years into the future, the little hunter would pass this same knowledge on to their own children.

About thirty minutes after dawn, the little hunter spotted a rabbit going towards a clump of brush. The little hunter stopped walking, and on instinct, daddy stopped as well. The child made a quiet motion and pointed the rabbit out to daddy. Daddy nodded, giving his permission for his little hunter to take the shot. Taking their time and being as quiet as possible, and with careful aim of the Stevens single shot .410 they had gotten for their 8th birthday last year, the little hunter took the shot. With great pride, they realized they had gotten the first rabbit of the day.
It was a nice, fat, buck cottontail, just perfect for frying. The little hunter picked up the prize and stuffed it into the back of their game vest. How proud the little hunter was! Daddy had a bit of pride himself. Off they walked to continue their hunt. By the time it was 7:30, daddy had two rabbits and the little hunter had two. Not a bad morning at all.

They went back to the car and began loading everything into the trunk. The guns were unloaded and checked, then put into their cases, but the little hunter knew that as soon as they had skinned and cleaned the rabbits and given them to mama for supper, the guns would be again be taken out of the case and cleaned. Daddy had taught the child that if you take care of your firearm, it will last a lifetime and always be there to take care of you. Daddy was right, as the little hunter would always have the Stevens shotgun, perhaps one day passing it on to one of their children or grandchildren. The little hunter would acquire several other firearms in their lifetime, but none would hold such a place in their heart as this very first one.

Once they arrived home and everything was unloaded, they went out back to clean the rabbits. Daddy taught the little hunter to never, ever kill anything that they didn’t intend to eat unless it was really necessary. Daddy had also taught the child how to properly dress any animal that they killed, from little rabbits to big deer. The little hunter was as handy with a skinning knife as daddy was, and just as careful and clean. Within a few minutes the rabbits were ready for the frying pan. Mama put them in a pan of water and set them in the refrigerator until time to start supper.

Daddy and the little hunter brought in the rest of their things and put them away in their proper places to be ready for their next hunt. They brought their shotguns into the living room and opened their cleaning kits. The little hunter had their very own. When the guns were properly cleaned, they went again into their cases and were put away. Both guns were stored in the closet of the owner. Yes, the little hunter was able to keep their firearm in their own room. There was no chance of a mishap or accident. Daddy had taught them that the shotgun, and any other firearm, was a tool with a special purpose, not a toy to be played with.

That evening during supper, mama said how good the rabbit was and how proud she was of the little hunter. Daddy had also taught humility, so of course, the little hunter acted like it was nothing, even though they were quite pleased and thankful for the compliments. These early morning hunts with daddy were always a source of joy and were looked forward to with eager anticipation. After all, there are not too many girls who get to go hunting with daddy.