My husband, Rob, likes to hunt. I don't understand this, but I don't really want to either. So we agree to disagree on this whole issue.
I create edible meals out of his "catches" and then I fix myself a bowl of Cheerios sans sugar. Two of our children eat game, one does not.
This week I created deer meatloaf and grilled deer steak.
Hunters call this venison.
I no longer call it fillet of Bambi's mother, and he no longer begs me to take just a tiny bite. Yes, good marriages are made of compromises such as this.
In addition to his deer-filled week, Rob's had a little hunting fun. Oh, it's not officially hunting season in Iowa. However, we have had some late night garbage can visitors, and Rob, being the very sensitive husband that he is, set a live trap. This is the kind that you bait, the creature enters and is unhurt by the shutting of the cage door. Then all good, responsible hunters drive the animal out of the city limits and set it free.
We are going on our third raccoon. Never, in the twelve years we've lived here have this problem.
No, it's not the same raccoon who returns "Homeward Bound" style.
The first one growled and "smiled" rather viciously whenever Rob neared the cage. The second lounged on it's back and poked and read a novel. When Rob opened the cage the raccoon had decided he kind of liked the lovely little box. I think he might be of the RVing genus.
Have a great weekend.
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.