My last tag filled just last weekend. I had been seeing this three legged muley doe in the backyard, the end of her right hind leg was shot completely off and the muscle on the hips had atrophied. She didn't seem to be in a lot of distress, but she had to really work hard to stay with the rest of the herd and had horrible trouble with getting up from laying down. I talked with the neighbors on Friday nite and they all agreed if I had a shot it would be best.
Well, she showed up the next morning with about 6 other does and fawns, but she seemed to stay on the far side of the herd and wouldn't give me a shot. Finally I walked thru the yard towards her and scattered the others, giving me a 12 yd shot at her broadside. I have NEVER felt so keyed up and fevered as for that shot. My left leg looked like it belonged to a bad Elvis impersonator the way it was shaking and trembling! I made a bad shot, spined her, and then proceeded to drop 3 more arrows into her chest to anchor her. Knowing that I had to kill her because of her weakness put undue pressure on me and I almost blew it.
I feel like crap, I hate the way I had to do this, and I am certainly not proud of my poor shooting. I certainly wouldn't call it "fair chase" because it was one of "my backyard herd", but I couldn't watch her continued suffering thru what has already been a nasty and brutishly cold winter here.
Sometimes hunting is not glorious. Sometimes it is not pretty or picturesque. Sometimes we hunters are called upon by our ethics to end the suffering of one of the living and we must not shrink from that duty no matter how distasteful it may be. I have already been called to task by several "hunters" for wasting a buck tag on a crippled doe and it was all I could do to not drop kick those horn-porn idiots into next Tuesday. I had to post this to get it out of my system, kinda like a confession or a session of therapy. Thanks everyone for hearing me out.