The untold story about bagging some game

YESTERDAY, JENN AND I dined on a nice garden salad, potatoes and bear steaks.

The salad and the potatoes were fantastic. But the bear steak was the star of the show. Taken from a nice 120-pound animal I recently killed, it was as good or better than any venison I have had.

Jenn thought it was pretty good too.

“So, how was your weekend?” I said, after dinner. She paused. “That bear was a strong wild beast,” I began. “Born in the primordial forest, a slayer of lesser animals, a collector of honey, a silent guardian of the deep woods, it walked silently on padded feet and great claws, testing the air ...”

“Oh God!” she yelped. “You’re not about to tell the story of how you got that bear again are you?”

“You paused,” I answered. “I thought you wanted to hear it.”

“No,” she said flatly. “Eight times is enough.”

I was about to tell her that I added a full 15 minute bonus segment on the history of the calibre I used, but something subtle told me not to.

It could have been the way she sprinted out of the room.

A little later, after I heard a noise in the closet, we discussed the matter further.

“Jenn,” I began, “I’m not the most sensitive man in the world, but I am starting to think that you don’t like my hunting stories ...”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” she said, “But if you are asking me if I want to hear your hunting stories, the answer is no.”

“Look, I think it would really help if you were not wishy-washy about this,” I continued.

“OK, then,” she continued, “To be very clear, I have no interest in hearing your hunting stories ever again.”

I won’t lie to you. I found that very hard to believe. I mean what could be more interesting than a good hunting story?

I began to look for where it all went wrong.

I recalled incidents that happened over the last few years but could not find any indications at all.

At best there were a few crazy coincidences like that one time Jenn had a temporary bout of narcolepsy that began when I came home and told her about how I shot two grouse in two shots.

More recently, there was the tale of this year’s wild turkey. Every time I started to tell that great story she had to take very important phone calls. How she heard her phone ring on silent mode, I’ll never know.

As I recounted these incidents, she blushed and remained quiet. I started to have my doubts, but then I remembered last year’s deer.

“I told you last year’s deer hunt story 10 times!” I said jubilantly. “And you smiled every time you heard it. Heck, you even danced a little.”

“I had my ear buds in and music playing,” she said. “Never heard a word.”

“Oh, well,” I began. “The woods were silent that evening ... too silent ...”

“Stop!” she said. “You’ve got to accept that I just don’t like hunting stories.”

I walked to the deck and sat there quietly sorting this all out. Jenn then came over and said, “There are other things we can talk about. I’m going to get my tea and I’ll tell you about what I learned while reading this book on grammar.”

I smiled as she went inside. And then I started looking for my phone and a set of ear buds ...