Thursday, September 10, 2009

This evening I rode the four-wheeler with the Hubster to go check on his salt lick.

If you're not from around these here parts, that first statement meant nothing to you.

There is this strange manly ritual each fall that involves much strategic planning and time-consuming conversations with other men regarding mysterious sounding things like tree-climbing stands, food plots, and the aforementioned salt lick.

Deer season is right around the corner.

So we did our duty and checked on the block of salt that was sitting in the woods completely unlicked. Apparently, the deer have gotten the memo about high-sodium diets being a danger to your health.

Although, this time of year in the South, they really shouldn't worry about high blood pressure so much as just running for their lives and dodging bullets.


Amber said...

Aw...the salt lick.

Good times indeed. For it means I'm about to become a deer widow.

Anonymous said...

This blog would so not translate in Boston.

It's so nice to be back in the South even if I'm not a hunter or married to one!

Kendra said...

So glad we're not hunters.

The deer around here didn't get the memo, either. One was hanging around our pool the other day. Just staring at us, creeping closer. Probably to steal our extra salty Cheetos we left sitting out because no one around here put out a salt lick.

Mich said...

Add saving every plastic 2 liter drink container for corn, and you have my hubby.

what is funny is all of a sudden my night owl will "jump" out of bed at the crack of dawn...

then I know it is hunting season.