My husband is a hunter, as is my son, and one of my two daughters, and there was a time, when I was foolishly young, that I'd grab the opportunity to go with hubby on a hunting trek in order to just be with him. It didn't matter that I wasn't a hunter or that I'd later have nightmares about the slaughter of sweet, little animals, I was in love and would do what it took to be near the love of my life. I might mention here that this was a one-sided love affair because I don't rightly recall him ever wanting to accompany me on my, at that time only, out-of-the-home-except-for-work activity to do the grocery shopping with one buggy full of fighting kids while towing another in which to put the groceries, but you know how love goes...
It only took 2 (I'm a slow learner) of these opportunities for me to
get over itbecause I finally figured it out, hunters are a crazy bunch.
You begin to realize the extent of their insanity as you sit on a muddy turn row,in the rain, in the dark, in wet clothes, wearing only one boot (the other being stuck 3ft deep in the mud of a plowed up field a few hundred yards back), holding the leash of the hyper coon hound, waiting for your partner in life to find the damned truck that you know you arrived at the woods in. I might also mention here that the woods we were hunting in were, at most, only 1/8 of a mile wide but had sufficient length for us to be able to make various circles in order to become lost enough that you can't find the damned truck when you exit them.
Other realizations of a hunter's maddness come as you finally flail bleedingly through the entangled, thorny patch of wild blackberry bushes looking as if you'd just lost a fight with an angry feral cat. Then while you feel confident the blood won't matter due to there being no piranhas or sharks in the puddles and streams you'll have to cross, you soon realize that leaping these puddles and streams is a sure way to get wetter because you can almost bet that, even if your take off is smooth, the landing probably won't be.
And then there's the cold. But the shivering soon goes away due to the sweating you are doing from the extra 50lbs of mud you are carrying, that's stuck to your one boot and one sock, that you gathered from crossing that chisel-plowed field previously mentioned.
Upon finally arriving at my centrally heated home after my attempt to feel in tune with my other half, I came to the conclusion that love ain't worth all that so I'm OVER it!