I hate being the center of attention. In a family with three older sisters and an older brother, being the center of attention generally meant you were in trouble, and that was not a good thing.
Add that to my gawky, self-conscious teenage years, and I'm more than hesitant to be in the spotlight, especially just for the sake of being in the spotlight.
So it was with great reluctance that I found myself on an elevated platform in 1-inch heels trying on wedding gowns. The salesladies oohed and ahhed, flitting about with veils and gloves and...
"Let's try a tiara on you," said Jessica, my personal bridal attendant for the afternoon.
A tiara? Oh for the love of Pete, this was getting worse by the minute. What part of nothing fancy or uber-girlie did this woman not understand?
"Try it and you'll pull back a bloody stump," I wanted to hiss. Summoning my most gracious bride-to-be smile, I calmly replied instead, "No tiaras, a simple veil will be plenty."
Hearing what sounded like a pod of dolphins on crack, I turned to the platform to my left. The bride next to me had apparently found "the dress," and was twirling and rocking in the three-way mirror while her mother and about twenty friends watched. All of them were crying and carrying on. "I'm so proud of you," the mother gushed.
"Oh honey, you look radiant," one saleswoman cooed at me, apparently trying to make me feel as special as the other girl. Sure, she was trying to be nice, but I pretty much just felt like a tablecloth, I was adorned in so much lace. I just smiled again and made a beeline for the comfort and safety of my navy Wyoming Game and Fish Department sweatshirt and blue jeans. I felt like crying too, but in relief at finally having the experience over with.
Friends had told me trying on wedding gowns was one of the most fun parts of planning a wedding. Most had cried when they found their perfect dress, describing it as feeling like the ultimate princess or the most beautiful creature in the whole world. "I was glowing," said one friend.
Yuk, yuk, yuk.
What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I more excited by finding a dress? Shouldn't I be crying, my hands shaking as I was overcome with emotion? Was I missing some gene that made this whole thing something other than absolute torture? I must be lacking some critical chromosome that compelled me to spend at least half my annual salary on a tiara and teacakes and have the ultimate wedding.
A few weeks later, Outdoor Guy and I headed for Sheridan, Wyo., for some whitetail hunting. I'd shot an antelope last fall, but was eager to try something new. This would be my first time hunting deer, and our first hunting trip together. I'd been inundating him with questions about what to expect, what to pack, how to prepare, etc. Antelope season came and went, and it dang near killed me not to be out with the Game and Fish girls getting a goat of my own again.
Finally, the season opened and my big morning came. As first light approached, we headed to "the deer hole," a piece of private land where we had permission to hunt. My eyes were still adjusting to the pre-dawn light as Outdoor Guy began pointing out deer to me.
"There's a doe and a fawn at about 60 yards right in front of us and a decent buck and some does out about 300 yards to our left," he said, binoculars pressed to his eyes.
I raised my own binoculars to my eyes and looked for the deer. Those were deer? I saw mostly darkness and some brown shaped lumps that could have been deer or bushes or a water tank for all the detail my untrained eyes could detect.
"Ahh," was all I said. Sure enough, several minutes later, animals materialized before my eyes as more light peeked over the horizon. By golly, they were deer! Soon I could see some mule deer does grazing on the hillside and cows and antelope in a far pasture where just moments ago there had been nothing. What felt like an eternity later, a line of seven bucks came strolling up over the hill, down the fence line and into range.
"Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo right there," I yelped, pointing wildly.
"Okay, get your gun and get set up. Use the fence as a rest. I'll stay here, you don't need me breathing down your neck," Outdoor Guy replied calmly, laughing at my first-deer delirum.
And so I sat, rifle trained on a decent buck, waiting for him to just take a step or two forward to clear a fence post end give me a safe shot. And I waited and waited and...dang it, he didn't just take one step, he took a GIANT leap and fled across the pasture, around the corner and out of range. No worries, I thought, there's another buck hid in the trees, I'll just wait for him to come into the clearing.
As I went to reposition, Outdoor Guy touched my elbow and motioned for me to get up and follow. We snuck across the yard, me crouching low behind him, to reposition and set up on the group that had fled my sights only moments before.
"Take the one on the right," he said, pointing to a 5-point I'd asked about earlier. The buck had an unusual rack, with the top half of his antlers an almost pristine white. I sat down on the ground, using the corner of a shed's foundation as a rest.
"Put your crosshairs right behind his shoulder and shoot," he said. Easy as pie. Except that I couldn't get calmed down. One look at the critter through my scope and I got buck fever. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, my hands shook with each breath I took. I could never hold steady to take a good shot, and soon the beautiful buck with the crazy white antlers disappeared around the bend.
I waited for an admonition from Outdoor Guy about letting him get away. Instead he squeezed my shoulder. "Try lining up on the buck to your left," he encouraged, and put his folded-up jacket between my hand and the foundation. "Try this, it might make you a little more steady."
Whether it was his calm support or the jacket, I'll never know, but it worked. A few deep breaths and a quick prayer to the hunting gods and I pulled the trigger.
"PERFECT!" Outdoor Guy whooped as I reloaded. "Good shot!"
A strange yipping noise interrupted us as we started to gut the buck. It was Outdoor Guy's best friend, come to see the carnage, as he so eloquently put it.
"I see legs! I knew TC wouldn't let me down this morning," he hollered across the pasture, using his self-appointed nickname for me as he crossed the pasture. The next few minutes were a blur as the boys bantered back and forth, Outdoor Guy explaining what he was doing as he gutted the deer for me. Darrell insisted I give him a play-by-play, and offered to mount the antlers for me, in triumph of my first deer and buck.
"Want pictures of the two of you?" Darrell offered, gesturing to my camera sitting on the edge of the pickup.
We knelt behind the buck as Darrell barked instructions like he was a fashiopn photographer on assignment, taking pictures of runway models. "Okay, now turn his head to your right, good, good. Now tilt his chin down just a little. Perfect."
I felt Outdoor Guy's hand on my back and the buck's hair beneath my own hand. "I'm so proud of you sweetie," Ben said as we grinned for the camera. "That was awesome, I'm pumped."
With the two of them oohing and ahhing over me I felt like a rock star. I was the center of their attention, and I loved it. I was excited because now I was confident we could share hunting together in the future. And it felt so good, knowing Outdoor Guy was proud of me, and feeling confident once again in my abilities. Suddenly, my breath caught in my mouth and hands shook. Tears sprang to the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over in this great moment of happiness, confidence and pride.
There on a hillside in Sheridan County, I finally had my weepy girlie moment, complete with tears, shaking hands and feeling like a mighty huntress, if not exactly a princess. I guess I'm just one of those girls that gets emotional over whitetails, not white dresses. And I don't think I'd want it any other way.
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