Poor Joe

We traveled to my in-laws on Saturday for family pictures. I'll let you know in a future post how that all turns out. We weren't all that excited about it, but you do things like that for your mom. Besides, it gave us a chance for professional pictures of the three of us, which we haven't done since right after The Boy came home.

There are deer and antelope everywhere. Because of the fires in August, they have nowhere to be but in the fields near the interstate. When I see one dead on the road, it just breaks my heart, and I always say "Oh, poor Joe." Because the other deer probably just keep hopping over the dead one and think "Oh, man, poor Joe. That just sucks. He was such a cool dude."

I don't know why I call them Joe.

MFH says there must be a place in heaven for someone who feels so badly for the dead deer on the side of the road.

Anyway, MFH likes to hunt. No big deal. It's pretty common here in Montana. Venison is actually good for you. Do I prefer it to beef? No. But I understand the comraderie that happens when it comes to men and hunting, having grown up in a hunting family with three brothers. MFH can't wait to take The Boy with him someday.

One day we were in W@lm@rt back in the sporting goods section where they have all those dead animal heads hung on the walls. There was a huge elk, very beautiful. I told The Boy, "You know what that elk said to the man that was hunting him?"

"Don't shoot me!"

Yeah, that went over real big.