The air: salty, brisk, and crisp. I could never forget the air from that night. We deeply inhaled that air after every step we took. The path was winding and dusty, and our house was still far in the distance. We had gone hunting, Will and me. But, we had no fruits to show for our labor. Yet, I saw a massive buck. Young, full, and muscular; I had wanted to have come home hauling that deer to show Papa. But, it had run away too fast for Will to even get a good look at it. He had said that I should have a gun by now because I’m such a good spotter. But, I know better than to ever compare myself to Will. 

“Will, what'd ya think of that deer t’night?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, it had some muscle; it was humongous,” I exclaimed.

“Huh, I guess, Robby,” he hesitantly replied, “But, we’d better hurry up now. It’s far too late to be out here.”

The last light of the sun was now hidden under the salmon-colored horizon. Up ahead of me, Will strided ahead, and I could see the sweat on his shoulders under the gleam of the moon. I quickened the pace of my walk to keep up with him. Our dog, Harley, followed at Will’s heel. She was a black Lab; her coat shiny, now with white streaks.

Suddenly, I heard a branch crack, quite near us, and I shrieked. Will glowered back at me. 

And now, it appeared again, the deer, with its caramel body and shapely, ivory antlers.
“Oh, Will, shoot it! Shoot it, Will,” I whispered desperately. 

Will inhaled sharply and his gun gave out two shots. Once, bang. Twice, bang. 

The deer gave out a dying moan. Will told me that was always the worst part. He told me to then think about all of the meat we would have during winter; to ponder those cold, bitter nights, what delicious warmth our bodies would receive from the venison soup our mother would make.

I crept towards the deer as it made its final breaths. The abrupt movements of the deer’s legs ceased. 

“Will, do we have to carry it up?” I asked timidly.  

His eyes seemed to go into the back of his head. 

“Yes, Robby,” was the gruff response. 

He reached out for the two front legs of the deer, and very naturally, picked up the front half, his body tightening under the weight of the buck. 

“Take the back half, Robby,” he called out.

The back half of the deer was surprisingly light, and as a young boy, I felt proud that I was helping out, unaware of my brother carrying all of the weight. I proudly strutted down the path, going up and up the hill. 

Then, I realized, in the middle of it all, the steady trotting of Harley was now silent. 

“Harley, where are you, girl?” I shouted into the deep wood, “Come on, time to go home.”

My brow dampened and my breathing quickened. 

“Will,” I said, my voice faltering, “we have to go get Harley. She’ll be lost, and be eaten by the bears.” 

I almost whispered the last words. Will glanced at his surroundings, then back at the sunrise. We stood there for a couple minutes, while Will made the decision. Finally, he made eye contact with me. 

“We’ll come back tomorrow,” he said, “it is dark now. Hunting dogs always find their way home.”

Yet, Will could not hide his anxiety on this, and he kept holding his breath as he walked, exhaling every three seconds, looking around unceasingly for Harley’s distinctive black coat. 

Finally, darkness enveloped the wood, and the only light we could see was the faint, warm glow of the house, illuminating the steam arising from the chimney. 

And then, a bright light was cast upon the rest of the path to the house, and I heard the heavy, clear steps of Papa. 

“Boys, you’ve been out much too late,” I could hear him reprimanding us. 

Clearer and clearer, his steps came forward, until I could feel he was standing directly in front of us. I was fearful, yet proud all at once; proud, for Papa would be happy to see such a large buck we had brought home, but fearful nonetheless, because if Papa was in a bad mood, the deer would mean nothing. 

“But, what a prize you have brought home to show for it,” he smiled and laughed. 

I could see the tenseness in Will’s shoulders release, and I myself felt relieved too. Papa led us to the shed, where he motioned for us to enter.

The faint shine of Papa’s lantern was the only sliver of light in the shed. I slipped into the shed as the door creaked shut. and I heard Papa and Will grab the deer and heave it onto the table, their colorless figures moving through the dim shed. I stood motionless adjacent to the door, waiting for instructions. This was the first time Papa had invited me into the shed with him and Will. Even though it was dismal and smelled of long-dead animals, it felt good. 

Papa mumbled, “Robby, grab that tool on the second shelf with the red handle.”

I strided over to the shelves, squinting with my eyes on the ground. This was a place you did not want to misstep. 

Eventually, Papa and Will hung the deer and with me close behind, Will raced up the steps, both of us ravenous for whatever hearty meal Mama had prepared for the night. 

All three of us began to take off our boots and coats, walking through the mudroom.

Mama was standing at the kitchen. Her words and movements looked like a performance she had staged before we came; all about “you’ll never leave this house after staying out that late”, and pacing the floor, and telling us how many gray hairs this would give her. We settled at cleaning the mudroom for a week. But, I could tell that she was genuinely proud of our first real hunting trip. 

Sitting down at dinner, I noticed there was a particular lack of a dog scratching at my chair. Oh, how could I forget this?

“But, Papa, I forgot, we lost Harley,” I added.

“We’ll look for her tomorrow, Robby. I’m sure she will find her way back home; she always does. I’m just glad you came home unscathed. Your mother was practically flustered. Anything can happen in the woods, you know.” 

If he was referring to losing Harley or our adventures in the woods, I neither knew nor cared, but as the savory, luscious scent of Mama’s apple pie filled the cabin and Papa told stories of past hunting adventures, the simple joys of life contented me.