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John N. Felsher's Zany Adventures
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Hunting with
young children
not for the frail
or weak
hearted
young children
not for the frail
or weak
hearted
It looked like a good day for hunting – cool, calm and quiet. A crisp
autumn chill painted leaves in various shades of orange, scarlet and gold.
I crept slowly, quietly through the forest, pausing frequently to scan for
my elusive quarry. Carefully, I eased my foot softly, gently to the ground,
taking great care not to crack a twig. All of a sudden, I heard it.
“BOOM, POW. Get the bad guys. I’m a cowboy huntin’ buffaloes.
BANG, BANG!”.
“Daniel, you have to be quiet in the woods. You’ll scare the game,” I
instructed my then five-year-old son.
“Okay, Daddy, I’ll be quiet. You won’t hear nothin’ outta me. Why are
we bein’ quiet? When are we goin’ to see animals? Have I been quiet long
enough yet? If I’m quiet, can I shoot the gun? Huh, Daddy, can I, can I? I’ll
shoot it real quietly. Watch how far I can throw this pine cone. Watch,
Daddy, watch! You won’t hear another word outta me, Daddy, I’ll be … “
“HUSH!!!”
The sport of hunting offers many supreme challenges. Sportsmen
downed elephants with longbows and primitive arrows. Others entered
grizzly bear dens armed only with stone knives. Others faced charging
rhinos with spears. However, those insignificant accomplishments pale
when compared to hunting anything with a small child.
Hunting with children takes the patience of Job and the wisdom of ...
okay, actually not much wisdom. Did I mention the patience of Job?
To start off, one might measure the attention spans of children,
especially little boys, in nanoseconds. Naturally curious, they pocket any
pretty leaf, misshapen acorn, shiny rock or other “treasure” they can find.
They grab anything that slithers, crawls or hops, especially dangerous
things like spiders and wasps. Chiefly, though, they cannot keep quiet.
“Daniel, let’s sit here and listen for squirrels.”
“Okay, Daddy. Is this a good spot? Where are the squirrels goin’ to
come from? When are we goin’ to see somethin’? I’m hungry. Can I have
my snacks now?”
“HUSH!” I repeated while extending a shaky hand for the coffee jug to
absorb another jolt of caffeine.
“Daddy, let me do it. I’ll pour it. OOPS!”
“Yeeeeooooooowwww! That jug you and your brother gave me for
Father’s Day certainly keeps coffee hot.”
“Sorry, Daddy. I kinda dumped the rest on the ground when you
hollered. It’s all your fault.”
“You mean now I just have to lug around the empty steel jug without
any refreshment from it!”
“Least it’ll be lighter that way, Daddy. Mommy says you drink too much
coffee anyway.”
“She does, huh. I noticed she never drank coffee until you and your
little brother were born and now she can’t get enough. Let’s move over
here a bit and keep quiet!”
We moved down the trail a short distance and sat on an old log.
Finally, after threatening to cut off his snack supply, I persuaded Daniel to
keep his mouth shut for a few moments. After about 15 seconds of blissful
peace, I heard a strange tearing sound and then thought I detected the
sound of an animal scurrying through the weeds. I was wrong.
Daniel, while keeping his mouth shut, tore off sections of the rotting log
and rolled the big pieces down a small hill.
“Daniel, aren’t you supposed to be keeping quiet?”
“I’m not sayin’ nothin’, Daddy. It’s just my hands makin’ noise. I shut
up.”
Being out in the woods with a child allows an experienced parent to
share knowledge of forest denizens.
“Daddy, do fire ants get mad when you poke their nests with a stick?”
“Yes, Son. They sting and want to devour anything that disturbs them.
Why do you ask? YEEEEOOOOOWWWW.”
“WHEW, Daddy, those ants are really mad at you. Look at all them
crawlin’ over you. Do they hurt bad? I didn’t know you could dance.
Daddy, be quiet. You are scarin’ all the animals away.”
“Let’s get out of here while I still have some skin on my legs and hair on
my head. Come on, Daniel. Come on, Daniel. Come on, Daniel. I really
don’t think you need another decomposing acorn in your pocket.”
We headed down a wide path. “Daniel, walk on this side. There’s a
small puddle over there on the far edge. It’s getting chilly. Don’t go near
the …” SPLASH! “… puddle.”
“Sorry, Daddy. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get outta the way.”
“How could you NOT have gotten out of the way? Did that puddle jump
up and slap you? You were on the other side of the path and had to cross
over a fallen log, squeeze between two trees and cross 10 feet of barren
ground before you even came close to the puddle.”
“I don’t know. It just came outta nowhere. I won’t …” SPLASH! “… do it
again.” SPLASH!! SPLASH!!
“Okay, let’s go.” Swish, slop, swish, slop. “Daniel, how much water is
in your boots? Did you leave any water in the puddle?”
“Uh, I dunno. Water and mud just likes me.”
A few feet farther down the trail, I was certain a bear had jumped from
a tree.
“YEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW! This is fun. Vines make good swings.”
Daniel found some vines hanging from trees and pretended he was
Tarzan riding the Jungle Express.
“Daniel, watch out. Some of those vines don’t look too strong. You
might …” CRASH… “ARRRRRRGGGH pull it down.”
When pulled from the tree, the loosened vine liberated a load of
accumulated dead, although not decomposed, branches, leaves and other
entangled forest clutter directly above my head. Tossed by the vine, Daniel
bounced on his butt laughing down the trail.
“Daddy, that was fun. Can I do it again? Daddy, why are your eyes
crossed? You look silly?”
“Huh? Ugh! I always look this way after I’ve been clobbered on the
head with falling chunks of tree. Don’t worry. That lump rising on my head
will go away eventually; I’m almost certain.”
“Wait ‘till I tell Mommy that you let me swing on a vine and I almost got
hurt. If she’s already gonna beat more knots on your head, can I swing
again, uh, can I, can I?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s move on as soon as my eyes refocus on only
one of you.”
We found a place loaded with game sign. Evening approached and I
knew squirrels would begin making their rounds before dark. Finally in the
right place at the right time, we only needed to wait quietly to see something.
“Daddy, can we go now? I’m tired and cold. Carry me back to the
truck.”
“CARRY YOU? As heavy as you are? Just your boots weigh a ton with
all that slimy mud cemented on them. Don’t you think you should leave
some of that dirt in the forest for next time? It’s two miles uphill back to the
truck through rugged terrain, impenetrable bramble thickets, clinging
swamps, slashing brier patches, ravines and across frosty streams. I’m
already carrying my gun, your BB gun, ammunition, water, fruit drinks, extra
clothes, empty stainless steel coffee jug, first aid kit, a ton of snacks and all
your rock “treasures” you couldn’t fit into your pockets. Besides, you are
filthy muddy, wet and dripping stinking goo from all the puddles you’ve
‘accidentally’ fallen into repeatedly and you want me to carry you? I would
have to be nuts.”
Whipped by exhaustion and gasping for breath by the time we
stumbled back to the truck, I let Daniel down off my shoulders. Upon
arriving at the truck, I asked the most important parental question. “Do you
have to potty? If so, do it now before I get you situated in the truck.”
“No, I don’t have to.” I brushed off most of the dirt, took off his muddy
boots, stripped Daniel down to the last three or so layers to find reasonably
clean, dry clothing, and hoisted him into the truck. Click. What is it about
the sound of a seat belt fastening that triggers a child’s bladder into
bursting?
“I’ve got to go potty now and I can’t wait.”
I hoisted him from the truck, put his muddy boots and several layers of
wet clothes back on, took the layers off to “go,” took his boots off, hoisted
him back into the truck and secured the seat belt – again!
“Daddy, now I have to do Number Two and I can’t wait.” (Repeat as
above, only adding the “wiping process.”)
Eventually, we headed home. At the first convenience store, I
scrambled for the biggest cup of high-octane coffee I could find.
No, we didn’t see any game, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other
experiences in the wilds. However, I’m not sure I would want to do this
every day!
“Can we go again tomorrow, Daddy?”
“Of course, Son. I would love to. Now, where did I put my high blood
pressure medicine…?”
autumn chill painted leaves in various shades of orange, scarlet and gold.
I crept slowly, quietly through the forest, pausing frequently to scan for
my elusive quarry. Carefully, I eased my foot softly, gently to the ground,
taking great care not to crack a twig. All of a sudden, I heard it.
“BOOM, POW. Get the bad guys. I’m a cowboy huntin’ buffaloes.
BANG, BANG!”.
“Daniel, you have to be quiet in the woods. You’ll scare the game,” I
instructed my then five-year-old son.
“Okay, Daddy, I’ll be quiet. You won’t hear nothin’ outta me. Why are
we bein’ quiet? When are we goin’ to see animals? Have I been quiet long
enough yet? If I’m quiet, can I shoot the gun? Huh, Daddy, can I, can I? I’ll
shoot it real quietly. Watch how far I can throw this pine cone. Watch,
Daddy, watch! You won’t hear another word outta me, Daddy, I’ll be … “
“HUSH!!!”
The sport of hunting offers many supreme challenges. Sportsmen
downed elephants with longbows and primitive arrows. Others entered
grizzly bear dens armed only with stone knives. Others faced charging
rhinos with spears. However, those insignificant accomplishments pale
when compared to hunting anything with a small child.
Hunting with children takes the patience of Job and the wisdom of ...
okay, actually not much wisdom. Did I mention the patience of Job?
To start off, one might measure the attention spans of children,
especially little boys, in nanoseconds. Naturally curious, they pocket any
pretty leaf, misshapen acorn, shiny rock or other “treasure” they can find.
They grab anything that slithers, crawls or hops, especially dangerous
things like spiders and wasps. Chiefly, though, they cannot keep quiet.
“Daniel, let’s sit here and listen for squirrels.”
“Okay, Daddy. Is this a good spot? Where are the squirrels goin’ to
come from? When are we goin’ to see somethin’? I’m hungry. Can I have
my snacks now?”
“HUSH!” I repeated while extending a shaky hand for the coffee jug to
absorb another jolt of caffeine.
“Daddy, let me do it. I’ll pour it. OOPS!”
“Yeeeeooooooowwww! That jug you and your brother gave me for
Father’s Day certainly keeps coffee hot.”
“Sorry, Daddy. I kinda dumped the rest on the ground when you
hollered. It’s all your fault.”
“You mean now I just have to lug around the empty steel jug without
any refreshment from it!”
“Least it’ll be lighter that way, Daddy. Mommy says you drink too much
coffee anyway.”
“She does, huh. I noticed she never drank coffee until you and your
little brother were born and now she can’t get enough. Let’s move over
here a bit and keep quiet!”
We moved down the trail a short distance and sat on an old log.
Finally, after threatening to cut off his snack supply, I persuaded Daniel to
keep his mouth shut for a few moments. After about 15 seconds of blissful
peace, I heard a strange tearing sound and then thought I detected the
sound of an animal scurrying through the weeds. I was wrong.
Daniel, while keeping his mouth shut, tore off sections of the rotting log
and rolled the big pieces down a small hill.
“Daniel, aren’t you supposed to be keeping quiet?”
“I’m not sayin’ nothin’, Daddy. It’s just my hands makin’ noise. I shut
up.”
Being out in the woods with a child allows an experienced parent to
share knowledge of forest denizens.
“Daddy, do fire ants get mad when you poke their nests with a stick?”
“Yes, Son. They sting and want to devour anything that disturbs them.
Why do you ask? YEEEEOOOOOWWWW.”
“WHEW, Daddy, those ants are really mad at you. Look at all them
crawlin’ over you. Do they hurt bad? I didn’t know you could dance.
Daddy, be quiet. You are scarin’ all the animals away.”
“Let’s get out of here while I still have some skin on my legs and hair on
my head. Come on, Daniel. Come on, Daniel. Come on, Daniel. I really
don’t think you need another decomposing acorn in your pocket.”
We headed down a wide path. “Daniel, walk on this side. There’s a
small puddle over there on the far edge. It’s getting chilly. Don’t go near
the …” SPLASH! “… puddle.”
“Sorry, Daddy. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t get outta the way.”
“How could you NOT have gotten out of the way? Did that puddle jump
up and slap you? You were on the other side of the path and had to cross
over a fallen log, squeeze between two trees and cross 10 feet of barren
ground before you even came close to the puddle.”
“I don’t know. It just came outta nowhere. I won’t …” SPLASH! “… do it
again.” SPLASH!! SPLASH!!
“Okay, let’s go.” Swish, slop, swish, slop. “Daniel, how much water is
in your boots? Did you leave any water in the puddle?”
“Uh, I dunno. Water and mud just likes me.”
A few feet farther down the trail, I was certain a bear had jumped from
a tree.
“YEEEEEEEEEHAWWWWWW! This is fun. Vines make good swings.”
Daniel found some vines hanging from trees and pretended he was
Tarzan riding the Jungle Express.
“Daniel, watch out. Some of those vines don’t look too strong. You
might …” CRASH… “ARRRRRRGGGH pull it down.”
When pulled from the tree, the loosened vine liberated a load of
accumulated dead, although not decomposed, branches, leaves and other
entangled forest clutter directly above my head. Tossed by the vine, Daniel
bounced on his butt laughing down the trail.
“Daddy, that was fun. Can I do it again? Daddy, why are your eyes
crossed? You look silly?”
“Huh? Ugh! I always look this way after I’ve been clobbered on the
head with falling chunks of tree. Don’t worry. That lump rising on my head
will go away eventually; I’m almost certain.”
“Wait ‘till I tell Mommy that you let me swing on a vine and I almost got
hurt. If she’s already gonna beat more knots on your head, can I swing
again, uh, can I, can I?”
“I don’t think so. Let’s move on as soon as my eyes refocus on only
one of you.”
We found a place loaded with game sign. Evening approached and I
knew squirrels would begin making their rounds before dark. Finally in the
right place at the right time, we only needed to wait quietly to see something.
“Daddy, can we go now? I’m tired and cold. Carry me back to the
truck.”
“CARRY YOU? As heavy as you are? Just your boots weigh a ton with
all that slimy mud cemented on them. Don’t you think you should leave
some of that dirt in the forest for next time? It’s two miles uphill back to the
truck through rugged terrain, impenetrable bramble thickets, clinging
swamps, slashing brier patches, ravines and across frosty streams. I’m
already carrying my gun, your BB gun, ammunition, water, fruit drinks, extra
clothes, empty stainless steel coffee jug, first aid kit, a ton of snacks and all
your rock “treasures” you couldn’t fit into your pockets. Besides, you are
filthy muddy, wet and dripping stinking goo from all the puddles you’ve
‘accidentally’ fallen into repeatedly and you want me to carry you? I would
have to be nuts.”
Whipped by exhaustion and gasping for breath by the time we
stumbled back to the truck, I let Daniel down off my shoulders. Upon
arriving at the truck, I asked the most important parental question. “Do you
have to potty? If so, do it now before I get you situated in the truck.”
“No, I don’t have to.” I brushed off most of the dirt, took off his muddy
boots, stripped Daniel down to the last three or so layers to find reasonably
clean, dry clothing, and hoisted him into the truck. Click. What is it about
the sound of a seat belt fastening that triggers a child’s bladder into
bursting?
“I’ve got to go potty now and I can’t wait.”
I hoisted him from the truck, put his muddy boots and several layers of
wet clothes back on, took the layers off to “go,” took his boots off, hoisted
him back into the truck and secured the seat belt – again!
“Daddy, now I have to do Number Two and I can’t wait.” (Repeat as
above, only adding the “wiping process.”)
Eventually, we headed home. At the first convenience store, I
scrambled for the biggest cup of high-octane coffee I could find.
No, we didn’t see any game, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other
experiences in the wilds. However, I’m not sure I would want to do this
every day!
“Can we go again tomorrow, Daddy?”
“Of course, Son. I would love to. Now, where did I put my high blood
pressure medicine…?”
Steven and Daniel
Felsher enjoy a hunt
with their dad.
Felsher enjoy a hunt
with their dad.