The Culprit

It was a beautiful, crisp, fall day and I wanted to be hunting so badly, but I really had too much work to do. It is so true, “Work really gets in the way of hunting.” So, I decided I’d do a little practicing with my relatively new Browning compound bow. I did have enough time to do that.

I have a really wonderful place to practice tree stand shooting—from my second story kitchen window. As you know the arrow doesn’t drop as much when shot from and elevated position. All I had to do to duplicate my tree stand was to open the window in my kitchen (I had removed the screen for this purpose), which was on the second floor of our home, and shoot at the targets I had set up at various distances in my back yard.

I was having a great shoot—really making me want to hunt because I was shooting “lights out” that day. My wife came into the kitchen and we exchanged pleasantries and she went about her work in the kitchen. I went down to retrieve my arrows for another round of practice. After removing the arrows from the targets I decided to move the targets around a little to give me a new shooting perspective.

I finally came back to the kitchen—my wife was doing something at the kitchen counter—and I picked up my bow and nocked and arrow. I drew and took steady aim and hit the release. What happened for the following few moments is still a blur. Immediately upon pulling the release trigger there was this absolutely awful, deafening CRASH! For an instant or two I didn’t know what had happened. The first thought that came to mind was that by bow had disintegrated. I looked at it and kind of gave my self a once over to see if I was hurt but everything seemed to be alright. About the same time I turned toward my wife and I swear her eyes were as big as half dollars and there was a look of terror on her face. She later said that my eyes were also as wide as half dollars and I too had this awful, panic-stricken look.

I was finally able to gather my wits and take stock of the situation. The bow was intact and the arrow had indeed been launched, but there the arrow lay in the middle of the kitchen floor . . . with broken glass laying all around it. It was now evident. My wife had shut the window (the air being cool) when I went down to get my arrows. She thought I was through practicing. The window was so clean (that was unusual) that I hadn’t noticed she had closed it and she was so involved in her project at the counter that she hadn’t noticed me nock and draw my arrow.

For the life of me, I still can’t explain the arrow being in the kitchen floor. Why hadn’t it penetrated the window and gone somewhere outside? The arrow appeared to be in good condition, something I definitely couldn’t say about the kitchen window. This practice session I had done much more than shoot “lights out,” I had shot the window out.

My wife has never let me live this one down—although I still declare her to be at fault for closing the window, but of course, she lays all the blame squarely on my shoulders. It’s bad enough that she won’t let me live it down, but she has made sure all my friends and hunting buddies know what I did that day. Well, we all still get a big laugh out of it.