A Blonde and her Buck by Wanda Garner
I'm not sure why I let the first buck walk past me. I saw him coming and watched him leave. "That was stupid," I told myself brushing my wind-blown blonde hair out of my face. He wasn't a monster.. but he had a nice basket-rack. He appeared to be a 6... no, maybe an 8-point. I was so flustered, I couldn't even remember what I saw! I picked up my cellphone and called Tommy. "Do you know what your stupid wife just did? I let a buck walk right past me." Several minutes later, I watched as a second buck again walked right past me. He had long main beams... but dang! Where was his tines? "That guy's been fighting." I told myself. Broken tines, no more than 1-2 inches tall lined his rack. I watched as the second buck disappeared into the cedars as well.
When Tommy picked me up later in the morning, I replayed what had happened. "Why didn't you shoot?" he asked. I had no answer. I don't consider myself a trophy hunter. In fact, I insist I'm not. "It's always more important to put meat in the freezer and on the table," I always say. But neither of these bucks had any appeal to me. They were both legal, sporting at least 3 points on one side, but for whatever reason, I didn't shoot.
The following morning I was sitting in the doctor's office with one of my children. I shared the story of my previous day's hunt with the doctor. Again, the question was asked, "Why didn't you shoot one of those bucks?" I just shook my head. "Oh, you're a trophy hunter now, huh?" "No," I insisted. "I am not."
The next morning found me again sitting behind the same small cedars as two days before, where I had been when the two bucks passed. "They'll be back," I told myself. "This time, I'll shoot one of them. I might just shoot'em both! My tags will be filled and then I can go home and sleep the rest of deer season," I chuckled to myself, as I snuggled deeper in my camo jacket attempting to stay warm. I was at full-alert, ready for anything. It wasn't long before the first deer appeared. I couldn't tell what it was, but it was a big-bodied deer. Out of sheer stupidity, I had left the house without my binoculars. The air was still hazy as morning was young and the sun had not come up over the mountain side yet. The wind was picking up and I was constantly pushing the hair out of my face and attempting to stuff it under my hat. I just couldn't see well enough yet to be making any judgements or squeezing any triggers.
I continued watching the deer who was soon joined by a much smaller deer, a doe with a long slender neck. Within seconds, I saw the third deer crossing the lane in front of me and disappearing into the tall cedars. This deer immediately had my attention. "That has to be a buck." I told myself. It was something about the way he walked. Maybe it was the way he held himself or his muscular build, his short stocky neck. He disappeared, but I knew I'd see him again. He was checking the place out, making sure it was safe. This deer reappeared, almost as quickly as he had disappeared, but this time on the backside of the cedar thicket, exactly where I expected him to emerge. I watched as he slowly crept from the treeline and stopped. Seconds later, his head dropped and he began to browse. I could not see any antlers at that distance.
This piece of land the deer were feeding on is nothing more than a weed patch, but for whatever reason, the deer seem to love it. It's a worthless section of land, mostly cactus, thistle, and rocks. I should probably stress that it is mostly rock. I've never understood the attraction the deer have for it, but at this moment, I was so glad they did. 
According to Tommy, it is a saddle (low place) in a long north to south running ridge that is more than a mile long, and it has a south-southwest exposure. It is the closest way from the river bottom fields to the west to the major creek drainage and wooded hillsides to the east. Over the years we have seem many, many bucks in this little weed patch, including some of the largest that we have ever seen in Arkansas.
My heart resumed beating and my breathing returned to normal as I watched other deer joining these deer on the small hillside. It was getting good daylight and one by one I eliminated the possibilities of any of them being bucks.. except the one at the edge of the treeline.
Soon I heard leaves rustling... loud rustling. To my dismay and complete disbelief, I turned to see a donkey and he had me pegged! He stared a hole straight through me. "Oh, no! The horses are coming." Sure enough, before it was over, twelve horses and donkeys joined the deer feeding in the weed patch. The one old donkey kept his eye on me, as I tried to ignore him and concentrate on the unknown deer who was now watching the newcomers. The donkey was persistent in annoying me, standing directly in front of me scratching his rear-end on a fencepost and looking over 
his shoulder every so often to see if I were still there. I made faces at him, took photos of him, and entertained myself, while still keeping a close eye on the deer in the weed patch.
Suddenly, movement along the treeline caught my attention. I held my breathe as the unknown deer stepped around a huge cedar tree and stopped. With the solid green of the cedar behind him, I could see his white rack which was clearly wider than his ears. There was no hesitation on my part. I raised my .243 and found the buck in my scope. As the shot echoed across the mountainside, I watched as the buck fell directly in front of me at about 60 yards.
It was 7:20 AM when my cellphone buzzed and Tommy asked, "Was that you that shot? How big is he?" I had no clue. I didn't count points, but I knew he was legal. I slowly walked to where my buck lay several minutes later to find a beautiful 8-point. I jumped up and down for joy. No, he won't make Boone & Crockett, but he's a true trophy and besides providing my family with meat, this buck gave me some wonderful memories of hunting a cold and windy November morning in the Ozark Mountains of northern Arkansas.
