So, my husband killed a deer. I actually will prepare and eat the processed deer, which is a far cry from when we got engaged, when I almost fainted from mortification seeing the dead doe he killed. This year, on Christmas Day, my sister-in-law (Kerri) said "Quinn killed a deer!". And I cringed. I know. Horrible. I went outside and saw this huge deer (Quinn was smiling ear to ear) with big antlers sitting in the back of Mitt's Polaris. Yikes. Corin and Silas watched him CLEAN the deer (hello, why the heck do we use the term CLEAN to cut apart a dead animal? Just asking) and were not affected. I was affected, FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE thinking about him cleaning the deer.
So now, I'm home. SOMEHOW, the deer's head made its way into a black garbage bag and into my minivan and rode home with us for three hours without me realizing it. I'm glad I didn't know. Now. Quinn. Is BOILING the head in a giant pot to take off the skin so that he may put the antlers on a rack (that will not go in the house, by the way). I got a peek. Not pretty. It's very interesting.
I'm glad for the meat. Free meat for at least two months (possibly three). Thanks babe. I'll probably never go hunting with you. But, I think you're going to be okay with that.