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.

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-”