True story, told by a woman whose father was a gunsmith in Litchfield and had a deer-tagging station at his shop.
Woman comes in all excited. She’s shot her first deer. Father’s job was to weigh the deer, verify the tag, record the kill, where she shot it, what she killed it with, and so forth -- it’s technical. He goes out to her truck. He was a stoic Yankee, but this nearly cracked him. He comes back in. He has to deliver the news: “Ma’am, it ain’t a deer; it’s a goat.”
Which reminds me of the story of the sad sack hunters explaining a poor season. “The only one of the family that bagged a deer was Mother,” they said.
“What’d she get it with?”
“The Buick.”
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