Well, the silly season is over. What is the silly season? It is the two weeks in Pennsylvania that is devoted entirely to the deer season that allows us to use a rifle. The woods are full, and I certainly do enjoy the scramble for venison. I got an 8-point early in the season, and then found myself in the position where I was saving my doe tag for a larger doe, and “walking the pines” and “pushing the bottom” in the hopes of helping a youngster get a deer in the second week of the season, when a kid can shoot either a buck or a doe. So, what makes deer season silly?
It is the only two week stretch of the year when my beagles chase no rabbits. I exercise the dogs 300 days per year, and never take two entire weeks off. The dang hounds go crazy! They see me put on boots, and hunting pants, and then see me grab a rifle. Now, I have smart dogs, but they have yet to discern that the side by side shotgun means that we are rabbit hunting and the bolt action .30-06 means that they are being left at home while I pursue the elusive whitetail deer.
“The dogs howled for an hour after you left,” my wife, Renee, texted me one day, “And you left at five o’clock in the morning.” Did I mention that my beagles live in the house? Obviously, I did not answer the text. My phone doesn’t work where I deer hunt, and it would be useless to reply to her 12 hours later, after I was out of the woods and getting gasoline and a sandwich.
So, I decided to have “quality time” in the evenings with Renee, to help smooth over the chaos that she was no doubt enduring as I left the house in the mornings. Quality time in late November and December can only mean one thing for her. Hallmark. Not the cards, and not the store. It’s the channel, and they run nonstop Christmas movies for what seems like two months, leading up to the big December 25 itself.
“I’ve noticed something about these movies,” I said during one of the commercial breaks. The commercials are all about places for the perfect woman to do her perfect shopping.
“Do enlighten me,” Renee rolled her eyes.
“Well, it seems like all of these movies are about a very successful woman. Her work makes her move to the boonies, or she goes home to her quaint, rural hometown where she hasn’t spent time in years.”
Renee was silent. So, I knew that she agreed with me. “So what,” she eventually said.
“Well,” I sat up on the couch and sipped some coffee, “She also has been having troubles finding a good man, despite the fact that she is fantastically talented and looks like a super model.”
“What?”
“It’s always true. If she has a boyfriend, he is a jerk.” I scratched my beard thoughtfully.
“That is sometimes true in the movies,” she said.
“And!” I moved to my pain point, “She has to move into rural America to find a good man!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Renee said.
“Nothing,” I answered, “But the guy is the most eligible bachelor in town, and he is handsome and usually handy. He can fix stuff. He has a job, but he doesn’t make the money that the women makes.”
“It is a romance story…”
“True,” I continued, “But here is this guy, living in that town, being the kindest, most talented, best looking dude in town—and he is apparently unable to get a date. No women has scooped him up. He has spent years waiting for the right woman.”
“Is that it?” Renee asked.
“Plus, he has a dog. A well-behaved dog. And gal meets guy, and after a bit of a misunderstanding they fall in love. BOOM. That’s what Christmas means in every one of these movies.
“I like them,” she said, “And you don’t have to like them.”
“But,” I rubbed my hands together, “Do you know why you like these movies?”
“Because I like Romance stories and I like Christmas.”
“No,” I pointed a finger into the air, “It is because it tells the story of your life. You moved here to Central Pennsylvania. You work at the university. And who did you find? A dog man. You found me.” My wife was quiet again, so I knew I was right (again).
“Could that be true?”
“I think so.”
There was a long silence. “No,” she said, “You have more than one dog and your dogs are not well-behaved, and you aren’t handy at fixing things at all.”
“Oh,” I said.
“But you can hunt well,” she continued, “And I would appreciate if you take these misbehaving, howling beasts to chase a rabbit at your earliest convenience. They are driving me nuts.”
Yes, I am happy to report that the silly season is over, and we are after the rabbits again. Merry Christmas.
It is the only two week stretch of the year when my beagles chase no rabbits. I exercise the dogs 300 days per year, and never take two entire weeks off. The dang hounds go crazy! They see me put on boots, and hunting pants, and then see me grab a rifle. Now, I have smart dogs, but they have yet to discern that the side by side shotgun means that we are rabbit hunting and the bolt action .30-06 means that they are being left at home while I pursue the elusive whitetail deer.
“The dogs howled for an hour after you left,” my wife, Renee, texted me one day, “And you left at five o’clock in the morning.” Did I mention that my beagles live in the house? Obviously, I did not answer the text. My phone doesn’t work where I deer hunt, and it would be useless to reply to her 12 hours later, after I was out of the woods and getting gasoline and a sandwich.
So, I decided to have “quality time” in the evenings with Renee, to help smooth over the chaos that she was no doubt enduring as I left the house in the mornings. Quality time in late November and December can only mean one thing for her. Hallmark. Not the cards, and not the store. It’s the channel, and they run nonstop Christmas movies for what seems like two months, leading up to the big December 25 itself.
“I’ve noticed something about these movies,” I said during one of the commercial breaks. The commercials are all about places for the perfect woman to do her perfect shopping.
“Do enlighten me,” Renee rolled her eyes.
“Well, it seems like all of these movies are about a very successful woman. Her work makes her move to the boonies, or she goes home to her quaint, rural hometown where she hasn’t spent time in years.”
Renee was silent. So, I knew that she agreed with me. “So what,” she eventually said.
“Well,” I sat up on the couch and sipped some coffee, “She also has been having troubles finding a good man, despite the fact that she is fantastically talented and looks like a super model.”
“What?”
“It’s always true. If she has a boyfriend, he is a jerk.” I scratched my beard thoughtfully.
“That is sometimes true in the movies,” she said.
“And!” I moved to my pain point, “She has to move into rural America to find a good man!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Renee said.
“Nothing,” I answered, “But the guy is the most eligible bachelor in town, and he is handsome and usually handy. He can fix stuff. He has a job, but he doesn’t make the money that the women makes.”
“It is a romance story…”
“True,” I continued, “But here is this guy, living in that town, being the kindest, most talented, best looking dude in town—and he is apparently unable to get a date. No women has scooped him up. He has spent years waiting for the right woman.”
“Is that it?” Renee asked.
“Plus, he has a dog. A well-behaved dog. And gal meets guy, and after a bit of a misunderstanding they fall in love. BOOM. That’s what Christmas means in every one of these movies.
“I like them,” she said, “And you don’t have to like them.”
“But,” I rubbed my hands together, “Do you know why you like these movies?”
“Because I like Romance stories and I like Christmas.”
“No,” I pointed a finger into the air, “It is because it tells the story of your life. You moved here to Central Pennsylvania. You work at the university. And who did you find? A dog man. You found me.” My wife was quiet again, so I knew I was right (again).
“Could that be true?”
“I think so.”
There was a long silence. “No,” she said, “You have more than one dog and your dogs are not well-behaved, and you aren’t handy at fixing things at all.”
“Oh,” I said.
“But you can hunt well,” she continued, “And I would appreciate if you take these misbehaving, howling beasts to chase a rabbit at your earliest convenience. They are driving me nuts.”
Yes, I am happy to report that the silly season is over, and we are after the rabbits again. Merry Christmas.
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