Once when I was about 5. I remember I got to miss some days of kindergarten to go hunting with "the boys" It was one of the only times I did this, cause honestly I much preferred to stay home with "the girls."

Anyway, they took me cause I had "good eyes" which was true back then, but I really wasn't using them.

See we were sitting in this little rocky area on the side of a canyon that had me all excited cause it looked like a �princess balcony.' One of those little balconies on the side of castle's tower where queens and princesses stood to call down to there courtly lovers and knights in shining armor. I was all excited, but it soon wore off and I pulled out my two knitting needles and my orange acrylic {gag! But I was five and didn't know any better} yarn and started knitting away on a little swatch that would end up being about 8 by 10 inches. I told everyone I was making a scarf. But I think it ended up being a Barbie afghan.

Yep, there I was, I was supposed to be keeping my eyes peeled for Bambi's Papa so my big brother and Dad could kill it and instead my dad looks back to see me quietly knitting. I think he was more fascinated then disappointed. Incidently they did get a dear. A incident that would leave my 5 year old self even more resolved to NOT ever be a hunter. My dad, the Gun Smith, took this incident up as one of his favorite stories to tell people in the sporting good shop about me. I never really understood that. I would have thought he would have been disappointed to not have a second daddies little hunter. I guess not, he sure told this story often enough, and defended my non-hunter status to ANYONE who thought it ODD for a gunsmith's son. I'm lucky to have such a dad really. I have friends that would have had the compassion for other things smacked out of them instead of respected.

Sad.