One of the fringe benefits of making your living as a Professional Taxidermist, is that you handle a lot of trophy game and hear many interesting stories. Unfortunately some of these stories are about the bad guys who don't play the game by the rules...

November 22: The afternoon was busy and I was waiting on several customers when an old man and a young boy came into the studio. The boy, who didn't look to be more than 16 or 17 was leading the way, and it was obvious from his flushed cheeks and broad grin, that the deer he was carrying in the cardboard box was his.

After I greeted them, I told the young man to put the box down and I would be with him in a moment. The boy just grinned and held onto the box. When I finished with the customer I was waiting on, I smiled at the boy and motioned for him to put the box up on the counter. As I took the deer head out of the box and began to inspect it, I asked the boy if the deer was his. He nodded and said this was his first trophy deer and his very first deer hunt he added with pride.

The buck was a nice eight pointer with long tines and a symmetrical rack. But a careful examination of the head showed that there was a large cut on the nose, rope marks on the neck, and a small drag mark on the shoulder. I looked over at the young man and told him that these were serious blemishes and they concerned me because they might by difficult or impossible to repair.

The tone and implications of what I said seemed to stun the boy and drain the color from his face. After a few seconds of silence he looked up at me and asked in a voice that was obviously filled with emotion, “Is there anything you can do to save the head?”

Before I could answer, the old man who was standing next to the boy put his arm around the young man's shoulder to reassure him and said, “Look, we realize the deer has been mishandled but it wasn't in any way the boy’s fault. And there are reasons, other than this being the boy’s first deer, why we want to have the head mounted.” Looking at the boy he added, “Why don't you tell the man what happened Steve.”

The young man paused for a moment, then he looked at me and said, “Like I told you before, this was my first year hunting by myself. For the last two years I have been going with my Grandfather to learn how to hunt.”
I nodded my head in approval.

“Before the season opened we scouted the area we were going to hunt and found two great spots. There was deer sign everywhere and the best part was that the two stands we picked out were only a few hundred yards apart.
“On opening day we got to our stands just before legal shooting time. I guess I was on my stand for almost an hour and all I saw and heard, were some birds and a few squirrels.”

The boy paused and smiled, then added, “At first hearing those squirrels moving around in the leaves took a little getting used to. I mean every time I heard them I thought for sure that it was a deer moving around, and my heart really started pumping. But after awhile I sort of got used to the sound. And just when I thought I had my heart beat under control, I heard a twig snap behind me.”

The color returned to the boy’s face and the tempo of his voice began to pick up. “My Grandfather taught me that the best way to move your head when you're hunting, is to move it very slowly. So I turned my head towards the sound and right away I saw a pair of antlers moving in back of some bushes about 20 yards away.

“Now my heart was really pumping! I knew I only had a few seconds before the deer would step out from behind the bush, so I aimed my shotgun at the spot where I thought the buck would come out. While I took the safety off and waited to make the shot, I tried to calm down and remember all the things my Grandfather had taught me: look behind your target, aim for the vitals, squeeze the trigger, don't look at eyes—and don't look at the antlers. All of his lessons seemed to go through my mind at the same time.

“The next thing I knew the buck stepped out from behind the bush in exactly the spot I was aiming at. So I put the sights on his neck and slowly squeezed the trigger. The gun went off and I saw the deer collapse in its tracks. I couldn't believe I shot my first deer! I mean the deer was lying there beside the bush not moving, but I still couldn't believe that I bagged it. I was really excited.”

I interrupted the boy's story and said, “I know the feeling. I think every hunter remembers shooting their first deer, especially if they bag one as nice as yours.”

The boy smiled and nodded his head. “Well anyway,” he continued, “I chambered another round into my gun and watched the deer for about a minute or so, before I went up to it and made sure that it was dead. My Grandfather told me that if I shot a deer I should first make sure that it was dead, then I should hide my tag on it, and then get the deer out of sight and come and find him. Well I did all the things I was supposed to do and while I was covering the deer with some leaves and sticks I heard some footsteps in the leaves behind me.

“At first I thought it was my Grandfather coming to help. But unfortunately the footsteps turned out to be two other hunters. I guess the men were in their middle twenties and when they saw what I was doing, the tall skinny man rushed over to me and said, ‘Hey kid, what do you think you're doing with my deer!’ I just looked at him. I didn't know what to do or say. Finally I told him that the deer was mine and I asked him what he thought he was doing.
“The skinny guy just smiled, then he reached down and grabbed the deer by the antlers and pulled it away from the bush and said, ‘I'm going to gut out my deer sonny, so why don't you just get the hell out of here before you get hurt.’ The other man laughed and said, ‘You heard him kid, scram, get out of here,’ so I backed away and watched as the tall skinny man attached his deer tag to the antlers. I couldn't believe this was happening! I knew it wouldn’t be smart to start anything with these two, so I picked up my shotgun and went to get my Grandfather.”

“That's really rotten,” I said. “I mean something like that happening to anyone is bad enough, but when it happens to someone who is hunting alone in the woods for the first time, its got to be a scary experience.”

The old man took his arm off the boy's shoulder and stepped closer to the counter and said, “That's exactly what I thought. And I also thought this would be a good time to show Steve how to deal with situations that sometimes come up when you are in the woods. Even uncommon situations like this one.”
I nodded my head in agreement and said, “So tell me, how did you and Steve manage to get the deer back?”

“Well,” he said, “Steve is a pretty good shot so when I heard him shoot, I was pretty sure that he had hit a deer, so I started walking to his stand. By the time I was three quarters of the way there, I saw him walking towards me and I could tell by the way he looked that something was wrong. I asked him what happened and he told me the story. When he finished I told him OK, let's go and see if we can straighten this problem out.

“By the time we walked back to where Steve had left the deer, the two men had just finished field dressing it. I walked over to the tall man and said, “There seems to be a problem about who owns this deer.” At first the man didn't look at me, or answer me. He just continued wiping the blood off his knife. When I asked him if he heard me, he looked up at me and said in a sarcastic voice, ‘So you think there is a problem with who owns this deer? Well guess what old man, I own this deer and if you know what's good for you and that little jerk, you will forget about the deer and get out of the woods while your still healthy enough to get out.’

“Needless to say, when a man talks to you like that and he is standing next to a gut pile, holding a bloody knife, the prudent thing to do is back off and tell him to have a nice day. And that's just what I did.

I said OK, the deer is yours, let's just forget about it. Then Steve and I carefully walked away.”

“That's an incredible story,” I said. “It's hard to believe that there are people out there that would stoop to doing something like that.”

“Oh I don't know about that,” the old man said, "it seems like every time you pick up the paper today you read about people like these two.”
“Yes,” I said, “but it's hard to believe that what is happening in the streets is starting to spill over into the woods.”

"That's why I thought it was important to show Steve the proper way to handle this,” the old man replied. “I mean if he is going to spend any time in the woods its important that he know how to take care of himself.”

I nodded my head in agreement then asked, “So what did you do next?”
“Well, when we got to the parking lot there were only three cars in it.
So while I put our hunting gear away, Steve went over and jotted down the license plate numbers on the other cars. Then we moved a short distance away from the parked cars and waited. We knew from scouting the area that this was the only place that you could park a car, without having to walk quite a distance. And I figured that shady guys like these two, probably wouldn't walk any further than they had to.

“And my hunch was right, because we didn't have to wait more than 20 minutes before we saw the two men come out of the woods and put the deer on the roof of one of the vehicles. After Steve checked to be sure that he had the license plate number, we went home and made a few calls.”

“But how were you going to prove the deer was Steve's?” I asked the old man.
“I'll get to that in a minute,” he answered.

“Anyway, when we got home I checked through my hunting guide and got the number of the Conservation Officer that handles our area.

“I called him and told him the story and he said he would check out the plate and call me back. When he called back he asked me and Steve to meet him at a certain address in an hour.

“When we got there the C.O. and his partner were already there waiting. After we introduced ourselves, and they told us what they wanted us to do, we all walked up to the front of this old neglected white house and one of the C.O.'s knocked on the door. After a few moments and several more knocks, the tall man opened the door.”

“Well, well, well,” he said, “look who's here! It's the boy and the old man who think they own every deer in the woods. And this time they even brought along the deer police to try and help them. You really want my deer don't you kid?”
“Boy, I can see that guy really had an attitude problem,” I told the old man. “It's a good thing you two didn't try and press the issue with him when you were alone in the woods.”

The old man nodded his head in agreement then went on, “The C.O. that knocked on the door asked the man if his name was Robert Pelham, and was he the owner of the car in the driveway?”

The tall man just smiled, then he leaned against the door frame, and answered back, “That's my name, that's my car, and the deer hanging in the back yard is mine too! Do you have a problem with any of that "Mister" Conservation Officer?”

“Oh I don't know,” the C.O. told him, “why don't we just go around to the back and take a look at the deer.”

“Be my guest,” the man replied, “But first let me get John out here; he's my hunting partner—and the witness that was with me this morning when I shot the deer.”

“All right,” the C.O. said, “let's all go and have a look at the deer.”
“They must’ve had their story already made up,” I told the old man.
“I think they did,” he replied. “But to use a common cliché—“it ain't over 'til it's over.”

I smiled at the old man then asked, “So what happened next?”

“Well,” he went on, “when we got to the back of the house, we saw the deer hanging in a small tree by its back legs. After the two C.O.'s checked the tags and looked the deer over, the C.O. that did all the talking turned to the tall man and said, ‘so Mr. Pelham, it's your story that you legally shot this deer this morning, and John your hunting partner here witnessed it. Is that right?’ ‘
“That's right,” the tall man said, “and just as we were getting ready to gut it, when this little twerp came by and started crying that it was his deer. I told him to get lost, and if he wanted a deer he should go and shoot one of his own. A few minutes later he came back with this old man, and then they both started bellyaching about how the deer belonged to the kid.”

“So you're saying,” the C.O. went on, “that you shot the deer, tagged it, checked it in, and have been in sole possession of the carcass.”

“That's right,” the tall man said sarcastically, “and me and John have been sitting in the kitchen drinking beers, looking out the window at the deer all day. It's my first buck so I am kind of proud of it—know what I mean.”

“The C.O. didn't even bother to answer him, he just turned to the other man and said, ‘and you witnessed this whole thing, is that right?’

“That's right,” the man replied, “and what Bob told you is exactly what happened and I would swear to it in court of law.”

A smile broke across the old mans face, then he chuckled and said, “And that's when the C.O. lowered the boom on these two guys.”

“How did he do that,” I asked, “what did he say?”

The old man folded his arms across his chest, and still smiling said, “That's when the C.O. told Mr. Pelham that there seemed to be a problem with his story. He told these two guys the story Steve told him, then he asked Steve in front of them if he could prove that the deer was his.”

The old man put his arm back around the boy's shoulder, then looked at him and said, “You tell him how you did it Steve. You finish the story from here.”

The boy looked down at the buck, put his hand on the antlers and said, “Well, when the C.O. asked me if I could prove that the deer was mine, I told him that I could. He asked me how I could prove that the deer was mine, and I told him that my tag was still on the deer.

“That's when Mr. Pelham started yelling, ‘Sure kid, we can all see your deer tag hanging on the antlers, right next to mine. Why don't you go over and get your tag and show it to the deer policeman.’

“So I said OK, and I went over to the deer, took out my pocket knife and sliced open one of the nostrils. And there tucked up inside of the nostril was my deer tag. I wiped it off and gave it to the C.O., and told him that it was properly filled out too.

“Well that shut Mr. Pelham up. After that the two men did a lot of fast talking and they tried to change their stories. But it didn't work. The important thing is that they both were arrested and we finally got my deer back.”

I smiled and looked at the boy and said, “You really had to work to get this deer, didn't you son?”

The boy looked at me and said, “I sure did, and I was just lucky enough to have my Grandfather there to help me.”

“Well,” I said, “after hearing a story like that I can see that this deer is a trophy in more ways than one. So why don't you leave it here with me Steve, and I'll see what I can do to mount it for you.”

After we finished the paperwork the boy and the old man left. Later when I processed the deer, I thought about the story and I wondered if the boy would think of the deer more as a trophy of the hunt, or as a symbol that the bad guys don't always come out on top...

the end

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