Buck vs Doe

Hunting season has rolled around once again and Ol' Dutch is out in the field doing his best to provide meat for the table.

It’s bad enough to have to rise at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m. but to see Trixie lollygagging around like Sleeping Beauty is about more than this old hunter can take.

Chasing these elusive game animals this past week got me to thinking, which is an activity Trixie says is best left to people with experience. Determined and undeterred, though, I went ahead and struck out into unknown territory and began to peruse the differences between a buck and a doe.

When hunting, you know, it’s important to know such things.

Other than the apparent physical aspects where the female of species is lacking in a few items and ample in others, there are some other differences that come to mind.

One thing for certain, the male of the animal world generally has a certain odoriferous aroma wafting around him. This is not to say that females of a species don't carry a smell. In fact, the liberal dosings of cow elk urine to my clothes this past week has made me very aware of just how bad a female animal can smell.

Generally speaking, though, animals or even people of the female persuasion smell better than their male counterparts.

When I was in college I played mixed tennis doubles and my lady partner was not only a great tennis player but somehow this woman didn't stink. Even after a long day playing in the NAIA Regional meet she came off the court smelling like roses. When we got in the van to go back to the motel, though, she had the nerve to complain about something smelling like road kill while looking directly at Ol' Dutch.

We men are different. First of all, we are built different down there. I am not talking about the obvious difference but women who have lived with a man will tell you there is something going on in his G.I. tract that is just not right.

Somehow God decided to give men and women different plumbing processes on the exit valve and men are left to belch and fart while women somehow never do. And most interesting of all is that when a man does pass an odoriferous offering worthy of comment the woman he is with throws a fit like it has never happened before.

I have tried on numerous occasions to explain to Trixie how there is only two ways for such gaseous concoctions to travel—up or down. As some men can tell you there is nothing worse than holding it in until a gurgling sound akin to a mating moose loudly interrupts the morning prayer at church.

While some say that we men lose our sense of smell as we age and that careful grooming practices become too much trouble for social gatherings. I contend we simply don’t care anymore.

We’ve lost our “give a damn” and even men of genteel natures will let loose a cannonade from the rear portion of their anatomy with nary a blink of the eye.

After this week hunting morning, noon and night doused with the aroma of an elk outhouse though, I do know that road kill cannot even smell as bad as Ol' Dutch. And while Trixie is not much on outward religious display she did pause to give a loud “Amen” on that comment.