Oh, Deer.

It's nearly upon us: the High Holy Holiday of Deer Hunting Opening Day.  All over Wisconsin, people of all ages are airing out hunter's orange on clotheslines and backyard swing sets, checking guns and stockpiling ammunition, and generally packing for a weekend of fun in the great outdoors.  Hopefully, this doesn't mean they'll be packing more beer than changes of socks, but to each their own, I guess.

As for the non-hunters, it will be a weekend where we stay well away from the woods and try to find something nonlethal to enjoy.  I am not planning to go exploring in the  hills and valleys, but as I am planning to harvest my turkey at my friends' farm I won't be as successful with the latter.  It's my annual event, picking out my reserved turkey and bringing it home in time for the holiday dinner.  I feel good about it, knowing that my future dinner has enjoyed long days of sunshine and rain, eating bugs and fresh grass and cavorting about, gobbling with the rest of the gang.  It helps to make dinner a happy thing, knowing that your meal led a good life, know what I mean?

Tomorrow I have to head to one of my northern districts, which I try not to do this particular time of year.  I've already gassed up Ms. LuLa, so I shouldn't have to deal with lines at the pump or irritated, over-excited hunters all demanding deer tags from the harassed station attendants.  If all goes well, I'll cruise on by sipping a latte and getting the heck outta Webster well before the mass exodus to the euphemistic cabin begins after noon.  It has been a really long week here, and I am ready for the weekend.  Bang, bang, TGIF.