There are fifteen minutes left before sundown and the three does that we have been watching for an hour have not moved any closer than 110 yards. My oldest son is behind the gun tonight, and these lady deer are apparently familiar with his operating range. On the outside I try to portray a sense of calm, on the inside I’m screaming any manner of unpleasantries.

Just give the kid a shot.

Ten minutes left…

As we stand watch over a plot of beans, our target continues to lollygag in a smaller plot of winter forage. I’m sure the fact that his winter forage buffets appear to be attracting critters is reassuring for my father-in-law (land owner, caretaker of this parcel and the man that took me hunting for the first time). However, for the little boy next to me that small plot is causing fits of impatience so intense it’d be hilarious if I didn’t know exactly what he was going through.

Just as I start putting together my “we’ll get ‘em tomorrow” speech the smallest doe makes an inexplicable sprint directly towards us with the other two in tow!

It’s go time.

“Get ready, Brady.”

My oldest son rises slowly and slides his Ruger 77/44 out the window of the blind with the deft touch you’d expect from someone who’s been hunting for 10 years… but he’s only 6 years old. I hear his breathing slow and the safety softly click off. My mind is racing for reassuring words when I realize that he doesn’t need any. He’s got this.

“They’re still too far away, just hang on.”

No sooner than I finish my sentence, the largest doe breaks hard left and RUNS toward our blind.

I need to take this kid with me during my season. He is apparently catnip for whitetails.

Right on cue she stops and turns broadside. She has read and memorized the script and knows her role well.

“Are you on her, Brady?”

“I’m on her Dad. I’m ready.”

“Alright Brady, whenever you are-”

BOOOOOM.

The report of the Ruger is the exclamation point at the end of my sentence. Her reaction tells me that his shot is absolutely money.

Hell yes.

Since Brady isn’t quite large enough to see over the windows of the blind, he was standing on top of a plastic stool to shoot. In the heat of the moment, the Ruger knocked him fresh off of his stool and into my lap. I will never forget his eyes as he sat on my lap, gun still smoking. The mix of excitement and pure adrenaline has turned this little boy’s eyes into dinner plate sized projectors of raw emotion. The hug immediately after is one that I’ll hold with me all of my days. I made a real and concerted effort to hug him until he could feel how proud I was.

After making the usual phone calls to a proud Momma and an equally proud Grandpa, we started off to look for his trophy. It is officially DARK by now. Guess which idiot left his flashlight at home??

This one.

So I call the aforementioned Grandfather and ask him to make the 45 minute drive with a few flashlights. While we waited, I pulled the truck up and turned the lights on where we saw her last and I start looking with my cell phone flashlight. Say this for Samsung, the Galaxy S4 flashlight is not lacking for power.

We searched where we thought the impact site was. We searched where saw her last. We searched around the corner, just because. There was nothing. No blood. No hair. No sign of any wounded deer. By this time Brady had been awake for nearly 16 hours straight and his engine was winding down. My heart was breaking for the Little Man as the reality that we might not find this deer started to set in.

And then the cavalry arrived.

Armed with REAL flashlights and a new perspective, we started down separate paths near where we saw her last. I pursued one trail for nearly ten minutes without a single sign. Just as I stood to turn back towards the truck I found 3 drops of blood on the hard packed trail. There was no doubt that he’d made contact but the blood trail was sparse and our excitement quickly began to fade again.

The trail didn’t appear to follow any pattern. We’d find a few drops on the right hand side of one trail only to walk 15 steps and find a few drops on the other side of another trail. I wasn’t so much following a blood trail as I was my own hunches and gut feelings.

After what felt like an eternity of trudging forward with my nose to the ground I stood up, frustrated with my own inability to find this deer for my son, and shined my flashlight through the woods. What I saw was nearly enough to make my overworked heart stop. A scant ten yards off the trail lie the beautiful white underbelly of an Indiana whitetail.

“Brady, I’ve got her!”

“Where?!?  Let me see!  WOOOOOOO! HOT DOG, DAD!!”

I have never experienced a more beautiful flood of emotions in the deer woods. As my Little Man stood over his first trophy, examining every inch with that incredible pride and wonder that only little kids can muster, I fumbled with my camera to capture this moment. With tears of pride welling up in my eyes I hastily snapped a few barely discernible photos.

As we field dressed his doe, we tried to impress upon him what an achievement this was. He was no longer just a little boy, he was a “Provider.” He had put food on his family’s table and provided nourishment to us all. I don’t think he recognizes what an achievement that is at his age, but he’ll be reminded every time we open a pack of hamburger marked with the letter “B.”

With tags filled out and proper photos taken, we loaded up our prize and headed home. I listened as my little man recited the tale from beginning to end seemingly without stopping for breath. Excited as he was, Brady still couldn’t outrun human physiology and within minutes he was asleep.

Just a few minutes prior, he’d looked like a giant standing over his first deer. Now as I watched him sleep in his booster seat I was reminded just how tiny he actually is.

As I finally crawled into bed around 1 AM I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling. The realization of the fleeting nature of these moments is never far from my mind. I know one day soon there will be a day when he won’t hug me as soon as I get home from work. I won’t always be the strongest man in the world in his eyes. Hell, he may not always want to hunt with me.

But we will always have this.

The stories may change over time but the pride and excitement we shared that night will never be diminished. Memories like these cannot be forged on a couch or in front a television. Such emotion can only be evoked by sharing something you are truly passionate about. An emotional investment is required to create returns this fruitful.

He may think he owes me thanks for taking him hunting but he’s got it all wrong. That little boy is a hunter, and I’m just thankful he let me come along for the ride.