here is a story i wrote would you please read it and let me know what you think Morning Glory By Spence Roe 　 It is a cold Alabama morning. The woods feel like a group of bullies staring me down before the beating of a lifetime, one never forgotten. I can almost feel the beady eyes of the pack of coyotes I feel like I walked past on my way to the stand in the pitch black. A sigh of relief comes in the form of shades of orange shining through the pines on its way up to thaw the world. Suddenly I hear the sound of a fox squirrel running behind my stand .I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I slowly turn my head and see a huge, monstrous, looking animal. “Possum,” I mutter to myself. I really thought it might be a deer, but it’s just a big rat walking along the woods looking for something to eat. About an hour or two goes by and a small doe steps out of the safety of the woods peering up and down the field. "Shoot ‘er," I say to myself, "in 3 or 4 years." I don't know why, but I tickled myself when I said it. The small doe acts like she doesn't have a care in the world. About this time, I think to myself, “This isn't a complete waste. Even though I didn't get one, at least I didn't get shut out. I'm on the board with one.” As nine o'clock approaches, I know this morning hunt is coming to an end. As I watch this doe, I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket; the screen says, ”NEW TEXT MESSAGE.” The message says, ”IM OUT.” This message is from my friend and high school baseball coach. I slowly unzip my back pack and pull out my blaze orange browning hat and unload my Savage 7mm rifle. I stand up to stretch and to get the circulation back into my legs. By this time the doe is flagging and heading back to the safety of the pines. I hear the sound of a gas powered buggy coming toward me. I descend out of my tower of death (treestand) and await my camo limo. All of a sudden ,I hear a sound like a train coming through the woods. I see movement, and then about 40 yards from me I see bodies of brown coming through. It looks like a herd of deer; I count about 15 or 20. I drop my gear, cycle around into my 7 mag, drop to my knee, and whistle. Well, I try to whistle, but with all the excitement, I've forgotten how. What do I do? Doe bleat should work, but will it work if they are not in rut. I don't know! So finally, I do what is the most obvious thing to do. "STOP," I scream. Three doe and one buck freeze. I settle the cross hairs of my Leupold vx1 on the shoulder of the buck, and slowly squeeze the trigger. At this point, I don't care if it’s a spike or a six-point. With a mild kick and a teeth chattering blast out of my shoulder cannon, I'm taken back to when I was 10. My uncle Jack and I had walked across a frozen pasture and sat against an oak tree. All of a sudden a mature doe hoped the barb wire fence. My uncle raised his 6mm and shot the deer. It was at that exact moment that I knew I wanted to be a deer hunter. That day was the closest I’ve ever been to becoming a popsicle as well. From that memory another came. It was a hunt with my dad . We were sitting on the side of the main dirt road at our hunting club when a 6-point walked out. I was sitting beside my dad, but slightly in front of him. His 270 rang out like a cannon. I swear you could have heard it a mile away. I say this because the barrel was about 16 inches from my ear. At this point , I fast forward to reality. "BOOM," and the buck disappeared from my scope. He's nowhere to be seen. I knew I hit him, but what do I do? Do I wait for coach, or do I go look for blood? I decide to wait. I wait about five minutes or so, but it feels like an hour. I see the buggy heading my way. Coach has this look on his face which can only be described as half happy and half frustrated. “Did you see all those deer I jumped? This must be a bedding area, he said. This shocked me because I figured I'd hear, "Hey man, how big is it or did you hit it" but no he said, "Did you see the deer?" I'm so frantic at this point I can barely even hear him for my ears still ringing from the muzzle blast. Then, without warning, coach slaps me on the back scaring the dickens out of me and says with a grin, "What did you shoot?" All I can think to say is, "A deer." “Well I hope so," replied coach. "Where did you shoot him?" "Right where I needed to," quoting one of my favorite cousins, Rachel, which was a true but very sarcastic response, but with all the excitement it’s all I can think to say . Then, again, without warning, he turns and throws up his hands as if to say field goal. “Where on the field?" I told him the story detail by detail even about the opossum. I don't know why, but if it would help me recover my deer, I thought it might be important. After I told him the story, we put our gear in the buggy, and I shed my jacket because by this point, I’ve broken a sweat. We strike out over the soft dirt admiring how broken up the ground is from all the deer signs when I hear two great words every hunter wants to hear when he is trailing a deer. " Got blood!” “It's dark and there's alot of it," I remark. We follow the blood trail for about 30 yards up a game trail and then I hear the other three words that every hunter wants to hear when trailing a wounded deer, "There's your deer." I look up and see a white belly and a matching set of shinny antlers. “A 10-point," Coach says as he high fives me. We stand there admiring the majestic beast as if it is a cape buffalo or a grizzly bear. "I've never seen this deer on the trail cam," coach says. With a pat on the back, I hear the words that every hunter would rather not hear , "Now the real work begins. Start dragging.....”