Winters in the Black Hills of South Dakota bring bone-chilling cold and a lingering sense of melancholy because of the heavy snows and long bitter nights. It is the time of year when my family’s alpha males eagerly prepare for “huntin’ season” and the younger boys, brothers and cousins, dread another week of freezing and degradation at deer camp. Pre-pubescent males are only allowed to be part of this time-honored ritual by paying their dues: “Shovel pathways …do the dishes … start the fire in the stove and keep it going … cut the wood … wait for your next orders …”
Worst of all was being one of the drivers. Dads and older cousins would drop us kids off in snow up to our waists, and we felt lucky if the temperature was above zero. We would begin walking in a particular direction while the elders drove a couple miles away in the Jeep to sit on a fallen tree and pass around a bottle of whiskey while waiting for us to rouse the deer. They hoped the deer trying to avoid us would stumble upon the stake out. Amazingly, over the years not one of the young boys was ever been mistaken for a deer and shot.
* * * * * *
I heard the muffled sound of large animals laboring through deep snow in the thick, silent forest around me. Despite the painfully cold temperature, the rich, musky aroma of deer told me they were near. If you’ve ever experienced this fragrance, you will forever recognize it and never forget. When I worked my way out of a thicket of pine and aspen, a group of whitetail does were leaping into the clearing, trying to jump as much of the heavy snow as they could … hesitating … then springing onward as they headed toward me from the rocky ridge behind us.
“If you see a doe,” my stepfather once instructed, “be still and be patient. A big buck isn’t too far behind.”
I held my .22 rifle in the crook of my left arm, peering behind the females for the elusive big buck. The does, almost a dozen, approached me steadily and with determination. I wasn’t sure they knew I was standing there. I felt a tingle of fear crawl up the back of my neck as they grew uncomfortably close. I’d heard stories about people being trampled by the sharp, rock-hard hooves of deer.
My mouth felt dry, and I felt unable to move. What chance did a scrawny 12-year old like me have if they went for me? WithIn moments, half a dozen does surrounded me. Then they stopped. Their beautiful black-brown eyes glistened like jewels. I could smell that unforgettable deer fragrance, hear their labored breathing, and see the steam issuing from their nostrils and heated bodies.
Some looked at me without fear and only passing interest. Two of the smaller females moved closer, snorting steam from their nostrils. I instinctively reached out to ward one of them off. She pressed against my hand. What now? She turned her neck toward me and I began to stroke it before I realized what a strange situation this was. I felt the roughness of her hair through my glove. For some reason I’d always assumed it would be soft and silky.
A few moments later the small herd continued their journey through the snow drifts, leaving me behind. II began to tremble, feeling the fear subside and relief flow through me. The deer aroma lingered in the air and on my glove as I tried to make sense of what happened. Was it a dream? I looked around. There were plenty of ciphers in the snow to verify the does had been there.
I never hunted after that.
“What a great story!” exclaimed the Medicine Man. “They chose you! You received your animal spirit guide as a young man and didn’t even know. Now that you are walking the pathway toward Native American spirituality, you are being prepared to acknowledge its presence in your life.
“Remember what I have taught you: A totem is an animal that has adopted you and will always be there to protect and guide you.”
“Rarely does a man have a deer as a totem. Usually, deer are women’s totems. You have special power!”
