Yum!

Being the supportive girlfriend that I am, I have learned to help James with his hunting duties. Meaning, basically, that I'll tag along when he drops a deer off at the processing place. I think this first started out as a test...

The first time I went with James and his dad to the processing place (if you don't know what this means, don't look it up... it is where they make a whole deer into food items, use your imagination), I got the privilege of riding in the backseat of the old four-runner with the latest victim. It was a delicate balance, riding without floorboards and supporting myself between the door and the dead animal. Definitely a challenge, trying not to fall through the bottom of the truck onto the road rushing below me, and trying to keep myself from brushing up against any part of the deer. Dead or not, I was not about to let it touch me.

Well, this most recent time I went with James to drop off his doe and have it sent off to be made into delicious deer sausages (whyyy must they taste so good?). We pulled up to a new processing place, deep in Kentucky, that was part of a grocery store. When I say grocery story I don't mean the Kroger, I mean the deli/post office/grocer/gas station/deer slaughter that was the only establishment in that particular glorious little corner of the world. It just so happened to be the first day of gun season, which meant that the establishment was overwhelmed with carcasses.

When you close your eyes and imagine what it would look like if you had walked onto the scene of a horror movie, times that by 6 and you have the sights I was taking in. The deer were being "processed" at a record pace, with tools I had never imagined would be used to cut flesh. Blood was splattering everywhere and even splashed on me a bit. Oh, God. What am I doing here? Bodies were piled up and around, hanging in a refrigerated trailer. I'll spare you any more of the gory details. This was one of those times that I wonder if the stereotypes about Kentucky are really all that false... men were standing around staring at me, standing amongst the bodies, and a woman was walking around taking pictures of all of the severed heads. This was the very definition of a nightmare.

I saw a kitten crawling around on the gravel and quickly snatched it up and held it close to my chest. I gave it a little kiss on the head, thankful for the beautiful little glimmer of reality in this fresh hell. I petted him and snuggled into his fur. The creepy woman slowly walked past me and at the last minute whipped up her camera and *flash* took a picture of me with the kitten, before she ran inside the back door of the grocery store. To this day, I wonder if that picture is hanging on a wall in someone's basement under a banner  that says, "targets".

After that I had pretty much had enough, so I put my new little friend back down on the gravel and watched in horror as it dove straight into a pile of guts and started batting around some intestines like a ball of yarn. Ok. That's where I'll take my leave. You're welcome.

My trophy buck.

At that point I stormed off into the grocery store and James followed. He decided we would have a bite to eat at the little deli there, since that's exactly what you want to do after you are splattered with blood and traumatized by body parts thrown around you.

A burger it was. A big guy in a bloody apron came in from the processing area and took our order, wiped his hands on his shirt and slapped together our burgers. To go. Awesome. Thanks for that. So, life is all about challenges, sacrifice, and learning. I learned that the processing plant is a place for James and his hunter buddies and not so much a place for Bridgettes and kittens.