Well, I'll try: I guess, call this "Sneaky Snake Bugs Buck".
I was hunting a leased ranch north of Uvalde, Texas, one year. This particular morning I had done just like my Dear Old Daddy told me, and had gotten a pretty nice buck. After hanging him at camp and having some lunch, I figured I'd go out and just watch the world.
It was in the high 30s/low 40s, and came a bit of mist and spitty drizzle. Even a tree stand in an oak wasn't much fun, so I figured that even a deer wouldn't be out in garbage like this. So, I start down from the stand.
I was all spraddled out among the branches, trying to find a non-slick foothold, when I glanced over my shoulder and saw a nice, fat little eight-pointer. For sure, not a doggoned thing I could do about him, right then. Plus, he wasn't all THAT big. (Yeah, them grapes woulda been sour.)
So he wandered on, and I climbed down. I figured that with wet grass and leaves, I might just be quiet enough to stalk him, just for fun. Away we went, me trying to be Mr. Noiseless of 1975.
After about a hundred yards I stopped and looked around. There was a clump of brush at the edge of a little cliff about 40 feet high, and from the brush stuck a deer's rump. I sneaked, and sneaked--and got to within about ten feet of the back end of Mr. Bucky.
What to do, what to do? Obviously, pick up a rock a bit bigger than a marble. Toss onto Mr. Bucky's rump. Wish they'd had video cameras, back then. That buck turned inside out his own exit to his alimentary system, put it into overdrive plus a bit more, and floor-boarded his adrenalin system.
Ears flat, eyes rolling, and kicking rocks in all directions! It wasn't until the ground wrinkled up and he got a bite before he made any real headway in his effort to practice not being there.
My roaring with laughter didn't help anything...
And I guess that sort of fun and games is a large part of why I love to hunt--you don't have to shoot anything to get a big kick out of a day.
, Art