It was only 11 in the morning and already the sun was hot.
I didn’t want to leave the cool canopy of the oaks on the wash.
But I had already pushed my luck to the limit.
It was time to get back to the task at hand–glassing the hills for those all-too-elusive deer.
Lickety-split we loaded up, skittered into the Jimmy, and we were off to a new hunt location.
I had no idea where we were headed next, but my husband drove off with purpose. He knew exactly where he was going.
Tomorrow, at the crack of dawn, I leave with my husband for the wilderness to…HUNT.
Yes, I said, hunt.
I can’t believe it either. The fact he wants me to go along is mind-boggling because, well, he knows me. I’m the kind of gal that can’t travel down the road 50 miles without having to pull over to see the world’s largest ball of string, or stop and do something. So I can’t quite figure out, after all these years, why he would want me “out there” with him, wherever “there” is.