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Show gf: Monnimitaiim ''jy r bv 1Van chnla Rooting for the underdeer There is only one day each year when I actively wish for foul weather when I go to bed with my fingers crossed hoping for icy roads, sleet and snow and wake up just before dawn wanting it all to turn to mud. . I'm talking, of course, about the first day of deer season, my least favorite day of the year. I've been dreading it for weeks, and now it's almost here. The orange-clad troops have already begun infiltrating the valley, stocking up on provisions at the local cash store and then holing up in seldom-used summer cabins up tne canyon. By night they prowl around in ram-tough trucks strafing the hillsides with spotlights and plotting their strategy for this weekend's opener. Friday night they will probably hit the sack early and long before dawn on Saturday they will be out in the bush steaming up the windows in someone's jeep waiting for daylight and deer. Let me admit right now that I am rooting for the deer. I realize that makes me about as popular as a Padres fan in Tiger Stadium, but as far as I am concerned killing animals is not a sport. And when the shooting starts Saturday morning I'll be hiding under the covers praying for fog, rain and mud to thwart the predators. The hunt puts a big damper on my afternoon rambles in the foothills. I can hear the gunfire and see the four-wheel drive blazers forging into the wilderness up ahead. And I find myself following a trail of spent shells, fast food wrappers and broken gates Needless to say. I don't see any oi the wildlite I usually see on these late afternoon walks. The elk, deer, foxes, coyotes and even the hawks have sought cover in the highlands. It will be a long time before they forget their fear of man again and allow me to walk past them without fleeing. Instead, I will spend most of Saturday raging around the house, feeling as though there is a war going on outside my front door. If I do venture out at all I'll keep my eyes to the ground so as not to see the spoils of that war being towed back to the city. I'll avoid my carnivorous neighbors and will try to steer any accidental conversations at the cash store toward safe ground, like politics. And heaven help the innocent hunter who offers me a generous side of venison because he and the wife don't care for it much. I've tried biting my tongue but it doesn't help. So here's to locally severe thunderstorms, hazardous roads and flash floods. Here's to thick underbrush, the one that gets away and mud up to your axles. Happy hunting. |