Deer Hunting and Delayed Gratification

The sun beamed overhead, and I wriggled my water bottle free from the side of my pack. I dropped to the ground and leaned my back against the pack. If I were a smoker, I probably would’ve lit one up about that time. I was parched, hungry, and dejected. Blindly, I reached into the bottom of my backpack to rummage for the Perfect Bar I’d stowed in there a few days prior. I washed the crumbled, dry bits down with lukewarm water and chewed on the bitter reality that I’d just blown what would have been a chip shot at a good buck.