Did You See The Turdy Pointer?

The snow crunched beneath their hooves, and they blinked with eyes like doves' eyes. One, a spike, tip-toed through the frozen mud to lick the salt block, partly melted, like candy does in your mouth. The minerals therein would do him much good, to become a stately buck. The small group of whitetail deer moved along beneath my tree fortress, built by my cousin and I years ago. Having spritzed myself with the scent of earth (and taken a shower with Scent Killer), they didn't notice my presence above them. My shotgun, Betty Lou, was aching to be fired, but I knew I should be patient as a spider before shooting any whitetail today - for it was the Thirty Point Buck I was after, not a spike and three lovely does. Their tails twitched and wiggled as they walked along, and I breathed a quick prayer that my quarry would reveal himself before nightfall. Nearly two frigid hours later, three sets of antlers sauntered their way across my path, giving me hope that the Thirty Pointer was not far behind. I could settle for an eight or a ten, but the Thirty Pointer was all I could think about (besides my toes shouting throbbing at me for warmth). I shifted my weight. The boards beneath me creaked like the Oaks in the wind, and one of the bucks stopped, sniffing the air and wondering about the sound. I held my breath. Good thing I had brought my scent removing gum along. I carefully removed a piece from the package, moving my arm slowly and deliberately - then unwrapped it from it's foil accouterments and put it in my mouth. I chewed on it, reveling in the taste of... whatever it was. The bucks continued on their way, following the same small trail the does and spike left behind. Another hour passed, birds chirping and landing on the branches around me, looking curiously of the set of eyes staring out from the snow mask. I felt like Snow White in camouflage. The wind blew a little harder, stinging the skin exposed by the eye-holes of the mask, and I wriggled my toes for warmth. Then I saw him. The Thirty Pointer. The Thirty Pointer weighed Two.. Thousand.. Pounds. He grunted and snorted in my general direction, his senses far keener than any of his predecessors. His rack was majestic, three feet wide, and two feet tall. No drop tines, no irregularities, just pure magic. I slowly raised my shotgun, slugs waiting steadily inside the barrel. I breathed in slowly, watched him turn a quarter towards me, and let it out halfway, and squeezed the trigger.

BOOM!

And there he was - gone.