Life had become intolerable, but Dan McMurry was putting forth his best face. Only two other creatures knew the extent of his misery.
Dan didn’t count his wife as one of those creatures. She and Dan were in different stages of healing, different stages of denial, and he was through trying to be strong for her. They tried talking it through, aided by a therapist, but that ended in harsh words. They settled for embittered silence. Alcohol entered the picture and the concept of divorce gained credibility. Dan and his wife were in icy detente.
Fit, 40 years-old, a sharp nose centering an intelligent looking face, and long brown hair struggling to hold its customary part, Dan sat with familiar numbness on a wooden stool in his small shop in the basement of his house. The door was closed, and he was cozy, sealed off. Looking down on him were two deer mounts, fashioned expertly by a local taxidermist. One was a giant mule deer Dan shot three years ago, the other was a comparatively small but nonetheless handsome 6-point whitetail — his son’s first deer. His son was killed in a traffic accident a year ago. The two animals overlooking the scene were the ones who knew the intolerable side of his life. Dan spent a lot of time down here, telling them.
On the large work bench in front of Dan were the various parts of a deer mount in progress. The ghastly white form with haunting, pre-set eyes stood with its nose to the ceiling along with two clear plastic ear liners, the thawed-out cape and a can of Instant Tan. Farther away were a hide punch, touch up paint and brush, a staple gun, needles and nylon thread. If Dan ordered the form size correctly, he told himself, maybe he’d be able to get a good night’s sleep.
This was Dan’s first attempt at taxidermy, and so far he was mostly thumbs. Frankly, he didn’t care if it ever came together. The mount was of a plain, forest-variety doe. For a taxidermist, probably a couple hours’ labor. For Dan — a seasoned architect — weeks, the labor equivalent of sketching, researching and designing a formidable structure. So far, the sputtering project was pounding in one of his college professor’s foundational axioms — in order to understand everything, you must know one thing entirely. By this the professor meant the realization that every endeavor comes with myriad challenges and layers of unseen problems to be solved. Knowing that, the professor claimed, was what separated the amateur from the professional. The doe was proving the professor’s point. Getting the damn thing caped would be an ordeal; the shampooing and fleshing a messy, bad dream.
Dan’s 14-year-old daughter, Kendy, shot the doe. She became legal hunting age two days before late doe season. Dan knew his daughter was not a hunter. She bought her license to replace her dead brother Kyle, thinking it would help. After she bravely shot the doe, mopping a tear with the back of her hand that had reached her chin, she said she wanted it on the wall next to Kyle’s deer.
“Honey,” Dan said gently so as to not spoil the moment, “does usually don’t get mounted.”
“They don’t? Why not?”
Dan was stuck. He didn’t want to say any more.
She looked at him and wiped away another tear but another one came out right away.
“It might be hard to find a taxidermist,” Dan said, leaving out who would bother with it.
“I want her mounted though,” Kendy pleaded.
She didn’t understand.
“Then you do it,” Kendy said. “You can do anything, Dad.”
He sat looking at the unassembled mount sitting in pieces surrounded by tools. It wasn’t just ignorance that delayed the project. With its extended phases of curing, the project furnished a logical excuse to disappear. The perfect “hide” so to speak. The fleshed-out cape had thawed and it was time to tan it, he guessed.
The mounts looked down on him. They had become close friends. In this he had at least partially humanized them. Why not? Once they ate, drank, sought pleasure and safety, made decisions, got frustrated and died by something they never saw coming. Just the other week the silence was broken by mysterious words — You, too, will die one day.
Rather than discount them, Dan began speaking back, hoping the participation would encourage more talk. A day later, he heard, Do not waste the days before the surprise hits you. Dan reported this to his wife who promptly accused him of mental illness. And Dan wasn’t sure that it wasn’t.
The big-headed mule deer looking down on the scene was a monster. Chocolate, ivory-tipped antlers, 173 on the score sheet with markings that testified directly to God. Artfully designed by nature, one could say. His neck was the size of a running back’s thigh. Positioned nobly, black whiskered, dignified, gazing toward his next conquest. Six feet away, Kyle’s deer was inquisitive, turned a bit toward the bruiser. Its compact antlers didn’t actually fit the head, but it was his boy’s first. It meant much more to Dan than the mule deer.
Dan heard Kendy’s footsteps coming down the stairs. This set off a panic. Dan scanned his desk, then opened a drawer and relaxed when he saw his pint of Southern Comfort tucked safely away.
He quietly closed the drawer and spread the cape awkwardly out in front of him.
“How are you doing, Dad?” Kendy asked, coming through the door for a look.
“Fine. I think it will turn out all right.”
“How much longer ’til we can put her up?”
“Say, you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
“Kind of.”
“Not long now, Honey.”
Dan smoothed out the cape. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his daughter looking up at the other mounts. It wasn’t so long ago that she said the room made her feel creepy. Now she’d shot a deer and wanted her mount. Dan loved her for that because he knew she still felt creepy. She shot it only to help him out with Kyle. Somewhere close to his heart, he quivered.
“Won’t be much longer now,” he said. “Just some fine work.”
Dan fiddled with an ear liner, pretending he knew what he was doing.
“Kendy, did I ever tell you how you can understand all things?”
“Who told you?” Kendy asked apprehensively. She was there when Dan told his wife that he was talking to the mounted animals, and that they were showing him a way out. His wife jumped on it, said he was crazy. It flared into a shouting match.
“My college professor.”
Dan told her as he’d been taught. Then he realized he’d never bothered to tell Kyle. An avalanche of remorse tumbled over him.
Before Kendy left the room, Dan asked her to repeat in her own words what he had told her. Somehow, it seemed vital that she knew. Kendy did this, took a last look and left a moment later.
Well done. Teach your offspring. This is your only immortality.
The words were spoken audibly, or were they? If they weren’t, how did he hear them?
“I failed to tell my son, though.”
He will be told all that he needs to know.
Dan pounced on this. He threw out three, four questions all having to do with Kyle.
The mounts went silent.
Dan put down the ear liner and took out the Southern Comfort. He switched seats to the spare recliner in the corner. He wanted just a quick nip or two while he looked at the animals.
“You never saw it coming either, did you?” he said in more of a whisper.
No one does. They see it happen to others and put it out of their minds. Apply it to your own life as if it will happen tomorrow. Trust me, Conqueror, you will never see it coming, either.
Dan tried to apply it. Here’s what came of it: The story of any hunt is a brief testimony tolerated but once by a handful of listeners. The photos will eventually end up in flames or a second-hand store. The head will move where time takes it; the circumstances will become unknown. This was the best he could think to say.
Yes, came from the direction of the mule deer. When you are gone, I will still exist. Death exists longer than life. Think back, did you enjoy our little moment together?
“Yes,” Dan said abruptly. “I was humbled. I thanked you, even said a quick prayer. In your death, you were very beautiful. I was thoroughly moved.”
Then I am happy.
Dan took a sip.
“I’m sorry, if it helps any.”
Oh, no. I helped you live. I brought a heart-felt moment to your life. It was very much worth it.
“It was?”
I moved someone’s life. That’s the point of everything.
Dan felt these words plant somewhere inside, and it felt like a pleasant advance. His eyes went over to the white tail.
“You did the same for Kyle.”
Here I am.
Dan thought back to the moment. Exchanging a hug, high fives, relieved laughter, don’t forget to unload the gun, a solemn prayer, Kyle saying, “I did it, Dad.” Very difficult moments now. Dan managed a nod, a tear, a sip.
The whitetail read his mind.
Never fail to remember the transcendent joy I brought to you at that moment. This is the entire purpose—enjoying the moment, exchanging love, goodness, special times. Be these moments for others, Dan. Create them. Live as if it is your last chance.
Dan perceived a language heavy with meaning. The mule deer clarified.
If we brought joy to you in death, bring joy to others while you live. Or we hang here for nothing.
From deep inside, Dan suddenly felt a great longing for these deer. With hope he asked, “Did you live that day as if it were your last?”
The whitetail responded.
What I had of it. And every day before. If we live only for gain tomorrow, we miss today. A habit of that is a life unlived. I lived. You live, too, Dan.
Through the vent came far away voices. They were as clear as the animals. Kendy was reciting her dad’s professor’s teaching to her mother. Dan got a boost. Then the volume rose and began to get angry. “I don’t want you listening to your father anymore. He’s down there going crazy. Drinking again, wasn’t he.”
“No!” Kendy said. “And he didn’t say anything about what you do, either!”
“That is prescription medicine, dearest daughter!”
“At least he’s not pretending!”
“Don’t you speak to me in that tone of voice!”
Dan put the pint between his thighs and clapped his hands over his ears. Tears squeezed out and he could only his sobs from the inside.
Love her anyway. Keep your word. On that unexpected day it will matter. On that day how you handle this will be what you have left.
Dan recovered, sniffling, wiping away tears with his fingers. Combining all he had heard so far, from nights past to now, he recited what he believed the words were saying.
“The day of death teaches us there is an end to life. We can’t see it coming, but it will. It is how we live before the day that matters. If we live without considering the simple things of today, we will live poorly. It is not for wealth, or position or the envy of others we live. One day it will suddenly be over and all we will have is how we lived. Right?”
No one spoke further.
The next night, Dan again stared at the parts of his project, unclear how to solve them. They intimidated him because he did not understand the process in its entirety, only in partiality. His training told him this was more dangerous than knowing nothing. The best move seemed to be to the recliner with the Southern Comfort. There he waited for his mind to clear, hoping for something to hit him.
A man given to sensual pleasure winds up poor. And he that is given to wine is never rich, forget the money.
It wasn’t what he was hoping for. He quaffed crudely.
Our lives have been wasted.
The cutting words upset him because it seemed to tip over everything they had spoken about so far. Dan looked at the pint, a few fingers left in it. He heard Kendy’s feet on the stairs. He didn’t move.
When she saw him, she screeched.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“I’ve been drinking, Kendy. But as of this moment, I quit. Here,” he said, holding the pint bottle out for her. “I want you to throw this away. I won’t do this again. You have my word.”
Kendy froze.
“I mean business. Here, take it.”
Kendy took it and ran to the basement restroom. Dan could hear liquid splashing in the toilet.
She returned with the empty bottle.
“Now let’s go see your mother.”
Holding Kendy’s hand, they sat on the sofa next to his wife. Dan told his wife he loved her, would always love her, and they as a family would see this through no matter what it took. “We’ll start a new start, and after that another if we need it. I’m sorry for all I have done and failed to do.”
The three of them stood and hugged and cried.
A week later, following the directions he had amassed from various sources, Dan had the cape positioned over the form. Apparently he’d measured and ordered within the parameters of correctness. The hazel eyes seemed to line up, the ears propped with stanchions seemed right, and she was stitched snugly. He trusted it was drying and adhering all right. He’d stapled the cape to the end of the mount and trimmed the excess hide. All the doe needed now was some black touch up on the nose and a bit to bring out the eye assembly. Dan was secretly glad for not having antlers to position because his lack of skill had reached the breaking point several times already. All the fear had passed heedless of the concern he attached to it. The mounts overlooking the process had a hand in it, he was sure. He stepped back from the table and climbed his stool for a look down on her. She was in a right-looking semi-sneak, as Kendy remembered just before the moment.
“I did it,” he said.
Because of the heavy conversations which had taken place in this room, Dan heard himself say this like Kyle had said it when his animal went down.
A day later, the paint was dry. He had a nail pounded into the wall where Kendy had indicated, and now, cradling the mount gingerly in his lap, with a hammer he tapped on a perceiving piece against the back of the mount. The work checked out. He looked up at the other mounts.
You die only when the last person you loved dies. Go! Seize the day! Do it with all gladness and joy and thoroughness. Fear nothing. Waste not a moment before the unexpected hits you.
At the bottom of the stairs with the mount under his arm, Dan called out, “Kendy? Kendy, your mount is ready.”
Feet running across the carpet and down the stairs. Maybe his wife would come too, but if not, he understood.
Kendy never saw him. Her big eyes zeroed on the mount under his arm.
“Wow Dad, you did it! Just like I wanted.”
“Shall we put it up?”
“Can I hold her first?”
Kendy cradled it and peeked around at the face; gingerly she touched an eyelash. Dan said he hoped the eyes were the right color, and that she was posed how Kendy remembered her.
“Just like it. She’s beautiful, Dad. I knew she would be. I’ll never get rid of her. Never in a million years.”
Dan was close to instructing her to converse with it as he had with the other mounts, but it didn’t seem to fit the moment.
“Dad, let’s go put her up between yours and Kyle’s, where she should be.”
In the shop, Dan stepped on a stool, placed the doe and stepped back down. They looked up together, arm and arm. Deer looking left and right, huddling. The submissive semi-sneak had been the right choice.
“Can I get Mom?”
“Sure. Let’s both go get her.”
Truly a first in the world of outdoor publishing, Monsters, Mayhem and Miracles is a one-of-a-kind collection of unforgettable tales from the sporting world. Its 44 stories range from harrowing encounters with deadly predators to astonishing tales involving spirits, ghosts and even the devil himself. Buy Now
