The Last
Hunt
Dad started hunting
when he was nine.
He loved it and fishing.
An outdoorsman to the core.
After he got Alzheimer’s,
he kept asking what was in season.
It worried us, him wandering in the woods
with a gun, not knowing what he was after.
One day, during deer season he came in
and said he saw a deer someone had shot.
Did he? We were never sure if his stories
were real or from some time in the past.
Later in the day he said he’d better go get
that deer.
I always stayed out of the woods during hunting
season,
but I put on an orange vest and went with him
to make sure he didn’t get lost.
Sure enough he found it.
He tagged it and we sent it to the meat processing.
But when it came back we discovered
the meat was spoiled.
We never told Dad.
He got his deer.
It kept him out of the woods.
That’s the last time he hunted.
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