He peers out our back windows anxiously--scanning the woods in a paranoid sort of way.
He disappears for hours at a time to the sporting goods department of Wally World.
He spends a lot of time polishing his guns with horrid smelling chemicals.
He mutters about how many fat does he saw in the neighbors corn field on his way home from church.
He checks and double checks his ammunition like he is expecting a herd of deer to randomly bound through our yard.
He inquires repeatedly how much extra space is in our deep freeze.
I don't worry too much about it. After all he has been doing this kind of thing for every year since I've known him. It's all part of being married to a deer hunter.
