Dane's annual picture with Santa was taken this weekend. Last year, he had no understanding of separation anxiety/terror. This year, he understood quite well... we were leaving him with Santa forever. Despite our dancing, faces, balloons and noise making toys, he would not smile for the camera. In fact, you'll notice he is pointing at us while he begged and pleaded for us not to leave him behind. Finally, Renee insisted they take the picture and we rescue him.

I think we should all be thankful for the soldiers of our country, past and present. They have served and continue to serve as the defenders of our freedoms. Regardless of your opinion regarding any war, it takes a very special human being to serve in our armed forces during combat.

HUA!

It's that wonderful time of the year for hunting. It's really a wonderful experience that I've rediscovered with my Dad. Before last year, hunting wasn't for me. My Dad and I had gone out many times when I was an child, then once or twice as an adolescent, and then again after I had exited the military. I just didn't have the desire to hunt (Sidenote: Part of the reason was that I had a really bad experience one year with him. I shot a deer, but it didn't go down. It was suffering and I kept shooting hoping it would die. It kept struggling to get away, until finally I hit it where I should have and it died. After that experience, I was afraid of it happening again.).

Last year, Dad and I went hunting together again and it was a great time. It seemed less focused on killing a deer and more on our time together. We would get up at 4:30am, drink a cup of coffee and talk. Then we would get our hunting gear together, get in the truck and head out. The mornings were crisp and cold with a slight wind that always seemed to be blowing in my face. He would drop me off at the make-shift tree stand (a ladder against a tree with a huge low branch) over-looking an open field.

"I'll be behind you on the tree," he would whisper.

There I would sit, listening to the dried leaves tapping against each other in the trees. As the sun would begin to rise, the field before me would become more clear. It seemed like every morning I would think, "nothing moving this morning." Then as I sat staring out onto the field, shapes would begin to stand out against the back ground. It seemed as though there were deer everywhere. My heart would race. I waited a while longer, mostly to let a few deer get into an area where the shot would be good and the kill would be clean. Every deer I shot last year (six of them), was clean. One bullet fired, a startled jump, attempt to run and drop. After waiting a few minutes, I would climb out of my perch. My Dad would here my climbing down and start walking my way. When he would get close, he would say, with a knowing smile, "Did you get one?"

"Yeah," I would say back to him.

He would tell me to wait to field dress the deer (this was back when he weighed close to 350lbs. and couldn't kneel very well) back at the shed so he could help. I told him I could do it (I even cleaned the deer he shot). So we would just talk as I cleaned the deer. That was the good part (Tough to imagine it to be good? Hands covered in blood and guts? A good time? You bet!) Seeing it now, I know it's more of the process and journey, than actually killing something.

This year my Mom told, "Your Dad is so excited about you coming up to hunt again this year!" I'm a little worried about my shoulder taking the punch of a .30-06, but I'll do what I can to pad it the best I can. I don't want to miss this time with him. Especially after what has happened in the last year.

I look forward to the time when Dane and I can head out into the Missouri wilderness, too (I already bought him a little .22). Or better yet, all three of us out there. But I especially want to make hunting a part of our life together.