The Conservation Echo Chamber: An Issue Only We Can Fix

Situational Anger

As I sit and write this, I have to be honest, I'm a little irritated. Actually I am more than a little irritated, I am pissed off. I'm not mad at any specific person, so much as I am mad at a situation that includes a piece of misguided legislation out of Georgia and a recent New York Times opinion piece.

Back in June, I caught wind of a piece of legislation that was introduced by a Congressman from Georgia, that left me speechless. Andrew Clyde, a Republican out of the 9th district, introduced the RETURN Act on June 22, 2022, and I only knew about it because of my very good friend out of Florida, Travis Thompson. Travis had posted about the RETURN Act on his private Cast & Blast Facebook page and had I not seen it posted there, I may not have discovered it at all. 

Once I did some research on the bill, I knew that if the "wrong crowd" caught wind of it, the conservation community could be in a lot of trouble. Let me explain.

As many, or at least some of you have heard or read about, the RETURN Act is a proposed bill that would repeal the Pittman-Robertson Act. For many people who aren't heavily involved in the conservation or hunting spaces, respectively, this may not feel like something they need to understand, because it doesn't pertain to them. However, I feel like it is worth an explanation, because I believe most people will decide that it absolutely does pertain to them, and in ways they didn't previously think about or understand.

What the Heck is Pittman-Robertson?

Here is the watered down explanation.

The Pittman-Robertson Act, now known as the Federal Aid in Wildlife Restoration Act, is an excise tax on firearms and ammunition that was asked for by outdoorsmen and the firearm industry and signed into law back in 1937. The P.R. Act essentially imposes a 10 or 11% excise tax, depending on the equipment, that is charged to the firearm, ammunition and archery equipment manufacturers and importers, is collected and put into a fund held by the Department of Treasury, then distributed via the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to states, for designated funding of Wildlife Restoration (conservation), Hunter Education, and Enhanced Hunter Education. The disbursements to the states are based on a formula that includes land mass, population, and how many certified hunters there are in that state. A certified hunter is anyone who purchases a hunting license. 

Hunting licenses sold in each state are incredibly critical to the funding that is offered through Pittman-Robertson, because each state has to come up with a 25% match of non-federal funding and much of that comes from hunting license sales. Match dollars can also come from volunteer hours accumulated during events like Hunter Education classes, "Learn How" events, and other event where volunteers are utilized for conservation or hunting related activities. Those volunteer hours have a value applied to them to help meet that 25% match. 

The Pittman-Robertson Act has been the most consistent and important tool for wildlife conservation in the history of the United States. Just as a single example where I live, in Indiana, there are numerous Fish & Wildlife Area properties that were purchased, enhanced, and are maintained by the funding that comes from P.R. What people oftentimes fail to realize is that those properties are for everyone to enjoy, not solely hunters and anglers. The properties are perfect locations for birders, wildlife photographers, wildlife watchers, foragers, or those who simply want to take a walk in nature and enjoy a space where wildlife is abundant. 

Again, I will use Indiana as an example of how conservation efforts of the past have worked and change the landscape for the better. In Indiana, the white-tailed deer and the eastern wild turkey were both extirpated, or taken off of the landscape of this state, back in the early 1900's. This was due to over hunting the species, loss of habitat, and the lack of any kind of conservation model in this country, let alone wildlife rules and regulations at a state level. Due to collaborative conservation efforts between multiple states starting in the forties and fifties and in the case of turkeys, lasting into the early 2000's, these animals were reintroduced to Indiana. Federal funding generated from primarily the Pittman-Robertson Act of 1937 helped make that, and many other conservation success stories, possible. 

Just chew on that for a minute. For anyone who likes to see deer or turkey out in the fields as you are driving down a county road in Indiana, for wildlife lovers who don't hunt, but simply appreciate the beauty of these animals, and for folks who feed their family from the controlled harvests of these animals; can you just imagine for a moment what our landscape would look like without the White-tailed deer or Eastern Wild turkey? My dad who was born in 1940 didn't even see a deer in real life until he was fifteen-years-old, and he couldn't believe his eyes when he finally saw one. 

I hope that puts into perspective the importance of conservation in this country, not just for hunters, but for anyone who enjoys the sights and sounds of nature. Funding from Pittman-Robertson doesn't benefit only hunters or what some call consumptive users, and it also doesn't only benefit game species. The large amount of non-game species that not only live in the spaces funded by the wildlife restoration funds, but thrive there, are really something we should all be excited about. 

What Does RETURN Stand for and Why Should I Care?

The RETURN Act Legislation introduced by the Republican Congressman out of Georgia is actually an acronym for "Return (Repealing Excise Tax on Unalienable Rights Now) our Constitutional Rights Act of 2022". And just by the name of it, you would think that this thing is a little ridiculous right out of the gate. The purpose of the proposed bill, according to Congressman Andrew Clyde, is to do away with a tax (yes, the same tax that funds a massive portion of wildlife conservation in the United States) that he believes is unconstitutional because it makes it difficult for Americans to afford firearms, which he says is their unalienable right, according to the second amendment of the United States Constitution. 

Firearm sales are at an all time high in the United States, and while I am not one to make predictions, I would bet those sales are not going to decrease in the near future. So, I have a really hard time buying into the notion that we, as Americans, are having our second amendment rights stifled due to the cost of firearms in this country. 

Congressman Clyde claims the funding from Pittman-Robertson ($1.1 billion in 2021) can be replaced by the lower amount of $800 million dollars generated from on and offshore energy development and from unallocated oil and gas lease revenue from public lands. If that sounds eerily familiar, Google the Land and Water Conservation Fund, and you will realize real quickly that there are only so many pieces of the pie and at the end of the day, someone is going to go hungry. And please tell me how $800 million is comparable to the $1.1 billion in funding? I'll wait.

You should probably know that this proposed piece of legislation was introduced with 56 original co-sponsors, all Republican Congresspeople, who were in support of the bill right out of the gate. I wonder how many of them understand how conservation in this country actually works?

Let's Be Honest

Most Americans, including surprisingly high numbers of lifelong hunters and recreational shooters, have never heard of the Pittman Robertson Act and they definitely aren't aware that they are paying a tax that goes into that P.R. fund. I am "new" to the hunting community, having only been around for ten years, and I am probably an anomaly, in that I have made conservation a significant part of my life in those ten short years, so I go out of my way to learn how it all works. Most hunters don't have that mindset, and I'm not necessarily mad at them for it, I just feel a little disappointed that when something like the RETURN Act rears it's ugly head, a large population of hunters don't even know what they stand to lose, so they don't speak up or get involved. 

But it's bigger than that, and this is where I get angry. 

There are more conservation organizations than I can count who operate on a national level that know exactly how conservation works, how its funded, and what would happen if that funding went away, and a large majority of them blew this proposed piece of legislation off as something that will never get legs (meaning that the bill would never amount to a serious threat) when it was introduced. The number of members for these organizations is staggering and had there been a push for those members, by their organization leaders, to immediately reach out and put pressure on their respective Congresspeople, especially if they were one of the 56 Cosponsors, maybe more of the Cosponsors would have removed themselves early on (as of 8/28/22 when I post this piece, 7 have withdrawn). Even if they didn't want to get involved politically, they could have been pushing a conservation education narrative to their members, just in case the members wanted to do something on their own

But it didn't happen. There were a few individuals, and yes I am one of them, Travis Thompson another, who started banging pots and pans together and trying to get the word out that this could potentially be a real problem for conservation, if this thing were to get in front of the "wrong crowd". I can't speak for Travis, but I know all I heard from folks in private messages through my social media accounts, was that this bill was a "nothing burger", or it was "so crazy" that it would never get past the Natural Resources Committee, it would be "dead on arrival", or again, my favorite, "it will never get legs". I'm still hoping those people are right, but that hope has diminished a little over the last few days. I'll get to that in a minute.

Who is The "Wrong Crowd", Anyway?

The percentage of hunters in the U.S. isn't exactly increasing by leaps and bounds, in fact hunting license sales have been in a steady decrease for about a decade now (2020-2021 numbers showed increases in some places due to Covid, but it is very unlikely that those numbers will be sustained moving forward). If that is the case, then it is obvious that there are significantly more people who aren't necessarily against hunting, they just don't participate, but that also means they probably have never been concerned with wildlife conservation or why it matters. There is the anti-hunting crowd, whom we are well aware of, who claim to love and value wildlife, but don't have an understanding of what it takes to have a healthy wildlife population on the landscape.  We also have a group who loves their firearms, are staunch advocates for their second amendment rights, and could be more accurately classified as self-proclaimed "Patriots", who are not hunters, not concerned with conservation, not exactly fans of the government and who feel like all taxes violate their rights, as American citizens.  And lastly, there is a group of people who may prove to be more significant to this entire RETURN Act scenario than anyone predicted; the anti-gun crowd. 

I posted a video on my @othercindylou Instagram page back on July 1st, shortly after diving into what the RETURN Act was all about, and I clearly stated my fears about this bill. I stated my fears about this bill getting in front of the crowds I just described and why we shouldn't discount what it would mean if they let their elected officials know that they supported the bill. I stated why I believed that it was important that those of us in the hunting and conservation space needed to take action and make sure that this bill is tossed in the trash before the "wrong crowd" got a hold of it. I was fired up and I mistakenly believed that everyone else who believes in the importance of conservation as much as I do, would get fired up too. Boy, was I disappointed.

Travis also blasted out to his social media following all of the reasons he believed people should speak up and fight back against this ridiculous legislation, that he and I both knew would be detrimental for conservation nationwide. Fortunately for Travis, he has an AMAZING community in Florida who are on board with all things conservation, and they answered the call. His friends lit up the phone lines in Congressman Clyde's office, so much so, that Congressman Clyde's assistant emailed Travis and expressed her displeasure with Travis' efforts. That being said, it gave Travis an opportunity to have Congressman Clyde on the July 18th episode of the Cast and Blast Florida Podcast that Travis facilitates. I highly recommend giving that episode (#227) a listen. 

The New York Times Opinion Piece and Those Damn Legs

There was an opinion piece published in the New York Times on Friday, August 26th, that just might provide the legs to this bill that everyone assured me would never materialize. The piece was written by someone named Christopher Ketchum, it was a guest essay in the opinion section of the publication. It was his opinion, however there were many falsities mentioned in the article pertaining to how the Pittman-Robertson funding is used, such as: it in no way benefits non-game species, the false claim that state agencies use of funds only benefits hunters and anglers, that logging and controlled burns are bad for wildlife, or that state agencies use herbicide on native species rather than the invasive species that are typically targeted. You get my point, it is loaded with misinformation and if you are a hunter or angler who is involved on the ground level with conservation like I am, you can suss out the falsities for yourself.

Here is the problem with this piece; those of us who know better, are the tiny minority in this situation. Those of us who know better will go on our social media accounts, call "foul", tear this piece apart, calling out every falsity we read and call this guy a biased, anti-hunting, anti-gun asshole, then go on with our day. We will get comments applauding our cheeky IG and FB posts, our arrogance about knowing "what's real", and how this thing (still) will never go anywhere. But while we are shouting into our echo chamber and patting each other on the back for knowing right from wrong and bragging about what we have "done for conservation", there are millions of people reading this article who are going to take the bait that this guy is dangling in front of them and they are going to swallow the hook in the process, simply because they just don't know any better. 

They don't know any better because we haven't done a good enough job educating them. I know a lot of people who are passionate about conservation, I follow them on social media, I am friends with them in real life, many of them are people I look up to in the outdoor space. They are good people and they really do put boots on the ground, get their hands dirty, and put in long days. They talk about efforts they believe are important in their respective areas, they post pictures of themselves, pulling invasive weeds, planting for new habitat on their private land or going out into the back country to build guzzlers, pull fence that disrupts migration routes, and to count wildlife species for research. If you gave me a few names, I could probably rattle off the species or places that are most important to them. 

How many of the people who subscribe to the New York Times and read that opinion piece even know why fences get pulled? How many know that invasive weeds choke will out natives weeds that are critical to healthy wildlife populations? Do they know how much work private landowners put into conservation efforts on their land? How many of those subscribers know why wildlife biologists get volunteers to spend a weekend away from home, in less than ideal conditions, to ultimately find only one bighorn sheep the entire weekend? Have any of those readers ever heard the term wildlife conservation and if they have, could they tell you what the term even means? I'd say the answer to those questions is very few to none, because they aren't part of our echo chamber, they don't know who we are or what we do. 

The article in the New York Times is exactly what was needed for the RETURN Act to grow those damn legs. It is going to speak to the masses and what it is telling them, is not in the best interest of conservation as we know it. But what are we, the people who know better, doing to tell them otherwise?

Tell More Stories About Conservation and Less Stories About Big Bucks and Limiting Out

People who have never been taught conservation methods aren't ignorant people, they just aren't educated on the subject. You can't expect them to care about something that they don't understand. I think there are opportunities that we, as hunters, anglers, and conservationists miss by not starting the conversation with people whom we are certain have no idea what we are talking about. I am, by nature, an introvert, I don't want to really be around a lot of people if I don't have to be, and small talk is my kryptonite. But if I can somehow find an opening to talk about hunting, which opens the door to talk about conservation and how they go hand in hand, you cannot get me to shut up. 

I got a new tattoo last week by an artist in Indianapolis whom I had never met before that appointment. I had him tattoo a large squirrel on my right forearm, which wasn't his normal subject matter, so it led to him asking why I was getting a squirrel. That of course led to a discussion about hunting with my dad, and through his prompts in conversation, it led to a discussion about why people hunt, and eventually to conservation. That then led to how conservation works, the extirpation of deer and turkey in Indiana, game laws, funding, and on and on. He had no idea. And why would he? He kept repeating to me throughout the conversation, that he didn't know about any of this and while he is in no way against hunting, it gave him a whole new perspective on hunting in general and definitely a better understanding of conservation. He thanked me for sharing this information with him, he said had I not taken the time to explain all of this stuff to him, he would have never known. 

I don't think I had anything to gain by telling him the story of my big ten-point buck from 2020, or the squirrel limits I set to get every time I venture out with my .22 rifle in January. It wouldn't have been as impactful for me to tell him about all the ducks Chance killed while in Louisiana a few years ago with his buddy. I could have shown him (tastefully done) pictures of half skinned mule deer doe that I shot in Montana last year, but what does that do to gain a supporter of conservation? Nothing. 

Instead, I told a conservation story. One of giving back, not taking. One of successes that aren't based off death. A story that he can pass on to others if he hears someone badmouthing hunters. It's a story that matters more than any other, but one we have to be dedicated enough to tell. Like my friend Randy Newberg says, "Conservation is always difficult, it is always uncomfortable, and it is always inconvenient", but I know he would also agree, that it damned sure is necessary.

Where My Real Frustrations Lie

To be clear, my overall frustration was initiated by the RETURN Act and what would happen if it were passed. But the more I talked with fellow hunters about conservation, and the more I realized that there are lifelong hunters out there that don't know how conservation, or the funding mechanism for conservation even works, it made me realize that these conversations should have started long before the RETURN Act was introduced, long before RAWA, and long before the big push a few years ago for the Land and Water Conservation Act. 

Many popular hunting shows on cable television don't talk about conservation, they talk about monster bucks, rope dragging turkeys, and all of their sponsors. Too many hunters on social media post videos of kill shots, bloodied animals, and an unfortunate disrespect for the game they pursue, not videos explaining why conservation is important. Yes, hunting is enjoyable and it feels good when you attain the success you are after, but I find these are huge missed opportunities to reach those new hunters who are scouring social media and YouTube for role models and mentors in the hunting/conservation space. 

Some folks in the spotlight get it right; Randy Newberg, Clay Newcomb, Steve Rinella, Janis Putelis, Doug Duren, Travis Thompson, and Remi Warren are just a few who share their experiences while incorporating the importance of conservation, in a meaningful and educational manner. Those are the people I tell non-hunters and new hunters alike, to pay attention to, those are the people who I know, have genuine intentions. And I can say that, because I am friends with a few of those guys and they have always been willing to chat on the phone when I've needed to bounce something off of them or simply just need advice.

Control the Narrative

It is important for people who love to watch wildlife, understand how that wildlife got there for them to watch. Birders should know that prairie habitat restoration projects benefit not only game birds, but also multiple varieties of songbirds. Wildlife photographers need to know that without conservation efforts and some reliable avenue of conservation funding, they wouldn't have nearly as many species to photograph. Foragers should understand that controlled burns in their favorite forests will not only help successional forest growth for wildlife, but will potentially produce a bumper crop of their favorite edible plants and fungi. 

We can't keep preaching to each other about what many of us already know. We need to write editorials in our local newspapers (even if they are all digital) about local conservation efforts the community can become involved with. We need to share the history of our local wildlife with the groups of people who appreciate the animals, but might not know that the animals were once gone from the landscape and could be again, if not managed properly. 

The RETURN Act isn't the first time and certainly won't be the last time we are targeted for being hunters or firearm owners. But maybe it's the wake up call we need to remind us that if we don't make an effort to educate the "others", and if we don't control the narrative, someone else will, and we'll be caught with our pants down. Just like we were this past Friday when Christopher Ketchum told his truth in a way many of us have never tried, outside of our own circles. 

You have a voice, use it to talk to people you've never met. If I can do it, I am damn certain you can too.

I'm Done Saying Nothing

I spend more time than I would like to admit, thinking about all the different ways I don't "fit in". That's not the same as saying I don't get along with people, because I generally find a way to do that, unless the circumstances are unbearable. 

Living in rural Indiana, which for the most part has always been a very conservative state, I realize that many of the social issues I support, are not the same issues that take a high priority for many people in the communities I have been a part of during my lifetime. 

I have a lot of friends and acquaintances through social media that I can connect with and have conversations with about more diverse topics, than I have in-person contacts locally, where I live. Many of the people I know locally are registered Republicans, the majority are Trump supporters, many are hardcore 2nd Amendment advocates who have a "Freedom or Die" (or something similar), bumper sticker on their truck. 

I am pro-LGBTQ equality, pro-choice, anti-racist, anti-misogynist, and a free-thinking individual who isn't afraid to go against the status quo. So as you can imagine, there aren't a lot of conversations I can just jump into and give my "two cents" without being looked at like I have two heads. Until recently, I have always lived by the rule that I should just be polite, be the "good girl", and keep my mouth shut, regardless of how much I believe (or don't believe) in something. 

Basically, say nothing. 

However, when it comes to talking about hunting, fishing, or the outdoors, I can hold my own with just about anyone around here. As a matter of fact, I have come to realize that there aren't even that many people around here who want to talk about hunting, as much as I do. It seems like in most cases, I see people's eyes glaze over and they start listening to the other conversations happening at the table, rather than the one they were in with me. But at least I know we have that subject in common, which gives me that ability to relate on some level, to people whom I don't have much else in common with, overall. 

My squirrel gun, a Ruger 10/22.

Being a hunter who owns multiple firearms, being someone who teaches hunter education. which is heavy on firearm safety, being someone who is involved in shooting sports instruction, and honestly just being from where I'm from, many would assume I am one of those hardcore 2nd Amendment advocates who believes that bearing arms is our "God-given right" and has the whole "cold dead hands" mentality. That assumption couldn't be further from the truth. But until now, I have never openly spoke or written about it. 

Again, I chose to say nothing. 

As anyone in the hunting space is aware, when you get involved in many of the traditional conservation groups, especially on a local level, the people running the show have been around for quite a while. Many leaders on the national level of those organizations will admit that there is an "old guard" that will be aging out soon and new, younger members are going to have to get involved and take the reins if these organizations are going to continue to exist. I agree with that assessment. 

I need to say right now, before I go any further, that I appreciate all the time these folks have dedicated over their lives, to these programs. The number of young lives, wildlife, habitat, etc., these volunteers have positively impacted is insurmountable and they deserve the utmost respect for their dedication. I value them and I believe that without their, in some cases, lifelong dedication to those things I just mentioned, we as outdoorsmen and women would be facing a much worse environment while following our passions. 

A few of the organizations that I am personally involved with, have the opportunity to apply for grants each year that provide much needed equipment for programming. The guys (and I am comfortable saying "guys", because the demographic that is generally involved in running programs and deciding what equipment is needed, are older, white men) have been involved in these decisions for twenty or thirty years. There are many who had it engrained in their heads many moons ago, that organizations like the National Rifle Association was there to protect their 2nd Amendment rights and was, overall, a good organization to be a part of. And I think at one time, prior to the mid-1970's, that may have been a fair assessment. Things have changed, the NRA and its motivation has changed, but unfortunately, the unwavering supportive attitudes by many toward the NRA, have not. I want so badly to pull a few guys aside and ask why? Why do you still support this organization? 

But I am scared of being blacklisted, so I say nothing. 

Sighting in my .270 prior to a hunting trip.

I am inwardly and until now, quietly conflicted, even amongst the crowd with whom I share so many passions. I take issue with where that grant money comes from for these local programs, and it is my belief that there is a serious problem in this country when it comes to firearms and violence. I am not a supporter in any way, shape, or form, of the National Rifle Association, for multiple reasons. Yet, many older folks I have volunteered alongside of over the last few years, still wear their NRA hats to events and still peddle NRA banquet tickets every year like they are helping their children win an annual school fundraiser, by selling the most tickets. Many of those same folks openly make disparaging remarks related to the other social issues I mentioned supporting above, and that is extremely hard for me to deal with, which some would say is a different conversation. But in the big picture, is it? 

I love volunteering. Overall, I'm surrounded by an amazing group of people who have given countless hours for these specific organizations and many other programs in our state. When I am surrounded by these folks, I laugh, I learn, and I feel like I am part of a family. But there are times when I hear things that make me cringe, make me feel uncomfortable, or are just fundamentally wrong on a human level. I worry that there are others, "outsiders" if you will, who are there to learn and are new to the hunting community who hear the same remarks, and then quietly decide that maybe this community just isn't for them after all.

Still, I say nothing. 

Teaching firearm safety in my garage, to a friend's daughter.

I say nothing because I feel like I have finally found my purpose. There is no activity I love more than helping people get outdoors, whether that is teaching them how to safely handle a firearm or if it is simply teaching someone how to fish. If you know me, you know it goes way deeper than that, but you understand what I mean. I finally found what I believed was "my people", the one place that I "fit in".  The hunting community felt like home, and I didn't want to lose that. No matter how badly I disagreed with things I heard people say, or read on social media, I kept my mouth shut because I didn't want to be banished from the community that I thought I belonged to. 

Gun violence in this country is at epic proportions. I say "this country" because no place else in the world is watching their citizens die the way we are. No one else in the world has sat idle when they see mass murders taking place like it's just another Tuesday. No place else in the world is so selfish, as human beings, that they have decided that it is ok for 10-year-old children to die, just as long as it doesn't interfere with how fast they can purchase a firearm, or what kind of firearm they can purchase. 

"We have rights, damnit! No one is going to take my guns!", we scream as family members across the country are burying their loved ones who were shot down for no other reason, than they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Loved ones who were grocery shopping, loved ones who just made the fourth-grade honor roll, loved ones who were attending a concert with friends, loved ones who were at a nightclub where they felt belonging, loved ones who were at church, loved ones who were just out living their lives. 

"I refuse to wait two weeks". I don't want more paperwork to fill out". "No one is going to tell me that I can't buy military grade weapons". That's what we, as Americans, have been trained to say. "Don't tread on me, or my rights". "It's a mental illness issue, not a gun issue". "It's a God issue, not a gun issue". "Bad guys will still get guns". "Lock up the schools". "I have my 2nd Amendment rights". "They're coming for our guns". All phrases said by millions of Americans before the bodies from the last mass shooting are even in the ground. People I know have said these things.

There I sit, saying nothing.

I started using firearms as an adult, which coincides with when I learned to hunt. I was not raised in a home that sensationalized firearms. Sure, my dad had guns, but other than discussing safety surrounding them, we didn't talk about them. I think my dad owned a shotgun, a .22 rifle and a handgun or two. I rarely saw them, and I wasn't even really curious about them. It wasn't until ten years ago, when I was 36 years old, that I even had a desire to shoot a gun. In other words, we didn't take Christmas card photos with the whole family showcasing an arsenal in our home as we were growing up. Showing off firearms for clout wasn't a thing back then, at least not like it is now, with social media. 

As of today, I probably have more firearms than the average American. I own six firearms for hunting and two firearms that I could carry for self-protection. I ENCOURAGE people, both adults and children alike, to purchase and operate firearms. I WANT people to learn how to shoot a gun. My volunteer efforts are based around shooting a gun. My job is funded by grant money that is gained from firearm and firearm accessory sales. So who the hell am I to say that we need stricter regulations when it comes to purchasing a firearm? My answer: I am EXACTLY the right person. And if you are a reasonable, responsible owner and operator of a firearm, so are you. 

Maybe since I came to firearms later in life, I have been able to keep a perspective that is less cult-like and more focused on treating them in a purposeful and respectful manner. Maybe since I was trained how to respect a firearm and how to instruct others to respect them, I see things differently. I don't equate owning a gun to having power. I don't see owning a firearm as a pathway to becoming a hero. And I certainly don't see owning a firearm as a means to settle a score or to right a wrong.  

I imagine there are a lot of gun owners in this country who feel the exact same way I do, but they too, say nothing, because of the backlash they will receive from their friends, hunting buddies, social groups, or even their families. I think it's time that those of us gun owners who quietly admit that there is a serious gun problem in this country, choose to loudly start using our voices to change the narrative. If not us, the ones who value and respect the privilege of owning firearms that are used in a responsible manner for competition, self-protection, or to provide food for our families, then who?  

I believe there are far more good people out there than bad, just like I believe there are far more responsible gun owners in this country, than criminals. If what I believe is true, how do we stop the bad actors from shooting up grocery stores, schools, movie theatres, open air concerts, night clubs, and the like? We need less people thinking only of themselves and what inconveniences they may experience when purchasing a firearm, and more people actively and openly having hard discussions on what it's going to take to make this senseless violence end. Is your inconvenience of filling out more paperwork for a background check worth another nineteen dead 10-year-olds? Is not having a waiting period on your firearm purchase worth another ten bodies lying dead in a grocery store? Is your opinion on restrictions of high capacity magazines or military grade weapons more important or valued than the lives lost by people just trying to do their jobs at their place of work? If you even consider saying yes, to any of those questions, then you and I are not the same. 

I am tired of saying nothing. 

I may never again be asked to volunteer for the organizations that I love dearly, because I am choosing to say SOMETHING. I may lose every last follower I have on social media because I am choosing to say SOMETHING. I may be ridiculed and called a wacko liberal because I am choosing to say SOMETHING. I may be labeled a traitor or a turncoat because I am choosing to say SOMETHING. I may be shunned in the community I live and breathe because I have finally had enough, and I am choosing to say SOMETHING. 

Knowing that, in the end, when I look back at my life choices and I reflect on how I lived and whether I did the very best I could to help make my small section of the world a better place, I won't regret saying something, because I finally realized that all that time of saying nothing, made me part of the problem.  

It's time the pro-gun owner/anti-gun lobby crowd use the voices we have, if we want to make the changes that are so desperately needed to help end gun violence in this country. We don't have to have all the answers, hell, we don't even have to have the right answers in the beginning. Brainstorm, get together with friends and talk about even the littlest changes, or be bold, go big, and look at what data tells us. What has worked in other countries that have just as many "bad" people, just as much mental illness,  yet have little to no mass shootings? What can we incorporate here that makes sense? How do we meet in the middle with those who refuse to even discuss the idea of reform? Then, contact your elected officials, set up meetings, make phone calls, write letters, and vote.

Just please, I am begging you, say something. 

     

A Story About Buddy: The Dog I Was Meant To Find, Love, and Keep

Over the last ten years, I have ventured out to the woods more times than I can count. I usually go with a purpose; to hunt, hike, look for morels, and sometimes, just to decompress and get away from the daily grind. I feel like each and every time I walk back out of the woods, I have gained something. Some days that may be a few squirrels or some deer meat for the freezer, or maybe some great photos, other days it might just be some much needed clarity. But I don't think I will ever top what I walked out of the woods with on May 1st, 2021.

It was the last full day of a four-day hunting camp that I had organized for a group of new hunters and a few folks who simply wanted to learn more about the hunting culture. This was a work trip that so far, in my mind, had been successful. 

I was out for a late afternoon sit with one of our guests, August, who was turkey hunting for the first time. We didn't go too far from our base camp, which was Spring Valley Ranch, a nice retreat-type facility, that hosted us for the weekend. We figured since it was an evening hunt, and the birds had been scarce, we would just stay close, rather than venturing way down deep into the Spavinaw Wildlife Management Area, like we had that morning. 

We had a general spot picked out, but we still needed to decide where to set up my little mini blind and place a couple of decoys. We had been told that there were a few roost trees nearby, so we chose a place that we thought maybe the turkeys might pass through on the way back to the roost that evening. 

Our view after getting all set up.

I had August get settled in front of a huge oak tree, while I placed the decoys around twenty-five yards out in front of us. I walked back to where August was sitting and proceeded to set up the blind around us. I gave them their shotgun shells and and reminded them of a few safety items that we had went over in class, the day before. They loaded the shotgun, made sure it was on safe, and made sure they had a good line on the decoys. 

Since August is a right-handed/right eye dominant shooter, I sat to the left of them, making sure that I was concealed by the blind. I got my box call out, thinking I would let out a call, just in case there were any turkeys in the area that wanted to pay us a visit. Right after letting out a few yelps, I immediately heard the dry leaves wrestling over my left shoulder. Anytime you are hunting and you hear something behind you, the last thing you want to do is make a sudden movement or swing your head around and look, but since we had JUST sat down, I knew it wasn't a turkey creeping up on us. I never imagined what it WOULD be though, when I turned my head.

I couldn't immediately make out what animal was that was walking toward us, but I could tell it was really small and not moving too fast. Whatever it was, it was brown in color and blending in with the leaf litter, leaving me squinting while trying to identify it. As soon as it stopped, at roughly fifteen yards from where we were sitting, it turned in a circled three times and collapsed, I knew. It was a puppy. 

I told August that a puppy had just fallen over not far from our blind and they immediately said, "A what?". When I repeated that I thought it was a puppy, they were as shocked as I was. I turned to August and told them that I knew this was their hunt and their trip, and I didn't want to ruin that, but I had to get up and go check on this dog that had just fallen over a few feet from our blind. They didn't hesitate to tell me to go get the dog.

I stood up and slowly walked over to where the dog was laying, trying not to scare it, and when I got a good look at him, my heart instantly broke into a million pieces. This tiny animal just laid there, too weak to raise it's head, but looking right at me while wagging the very tip of it's tail. I yelled back to August that I thought the dog was dying right in front of me. I squatted down whispering "Hey Buddy, what are you doing out here all alone?", while carefully reaching for him, hoping I wouldn't get bit. After I felt like it was safe to do so, I picked the little dog up and immediately felt sick to my stomach. He was nothing but bones and sagging skin, covered in what looked like hundreds of ticks and filth. 

Once I had him up off the ground, he just laid limp in my arms, but looking me square in the eyes the whole time. I carried him back over to the turkey blind and sat him down in front of us. August took the lid off of their water bottle and poured some water into it, hoping the little guy would drink. He wouldn't. I knew we needed to get him back to where we were staying to find him something to eat and try to get him to drink again, so after making sure August was okay with ending their hunt before it ever really got started, we unloaded the shotgun and headed back to my truck, leaving my blind and decoys right where I set them up. 

A few minutes after finding the dog, trying to get him to drink some water.

Once back to Spring Valley Ranch, I went into the kitchen and asked the folks who were cooking the meals for our camp if they had anything I cold feed a puppy that I just found in the woods. After flashing me a surprised look, they told me there was some chips I could give him, if he would eat them. I ended up taking some cheese slices with me too, because what dog doesn't love cheese? I broke the chips up and gave him only a few little pieces at a time, same with the cheese. I didn't want him to devour a bunch of food and then get sick from it. It was pretty obvious, based on his bones protruding all over his body that he hadn't been eating much of anything for a long time. 

He sat on my lap and ate each little piece of cheese I broke off for him, tasting none of it, I'm sure. Then, he stopped. He looked up at me, reached up and licked my face, and then leaned back on my chest, as if he just needed to rest for a minute. So I let him rest. A few minutes later, he was ready for more to eat. Again, I didn't give him much, because I was worried about upsetting his stomach, especially given the fact that he was eating corn chips and processed cheese. 

Taking a break from some cheese to show his appreciation.

August and I then started looking for a way to contain the dog, so we could go back out and try to salvage the rest of the evening hunt. We went into a small storage shed and rummaged around until we found an old, purple Rubbermaid tote. We figured that it was deep enough that the little guy couldn't jump out of it, and honestly, I didn't figure he would've had the energy to do so anyway. I grabbed the towels out of my truck that I was using for seat covers and placed them in the bottom of the tote so he had something soft to lay on. Then we cut the bottom out of a plastic water bottle and put it at one end of the tote, so he had some water to drink. 

Neither August nor myself really wanted to go back out to hunt, but I was there to do my job, and August had paid good money on travel and a non-resident hunting license, so I was going to take them back to the woods and make an effort to get them on a bird. We went back out, sat back down in the blind, loaded the shotgun again, and gave it all of about forty five minutes before admitting to each other that we just wanted to go back to the dog. So, we packed everything up and called it done. Neither one of us could focus on hunting, and we probably knew that before we ever went back out there.

The little dog was still in the purple tote when we got back, which was a huge relief for both of us. Alfred, the manager of the property, was all too familiar with stray dogs showing up at Spring Valley, or seeing them out in the wildlife management area. He said that Spavinaw was a notorious dumping ground for dogs. He believed that people would regularly take the access road to the very back of the property and dump dogs of all shapes and sizes, leaving them to fend for themselves. He imagined the same was true for this dog.

He stayed right where we left him.

And I should mention, there was already a stray at camp the first day we arrived, which was Thursday. That dog was a larger mixed breed, also skinny as a rail and very skittish around people. Well, skittish until we all started feeding her, then she warmed right up to everyone. Someone else at camp that weekend mentioned that they had seen two other small dogs, neither looking like the one that found August and I, but they only saw them once and then they disappeared. 

Alfred went to his house, which was nearby, and soon returned with a small container of dog food and a flea and tick chewable pill that he just happened to have on hand, for a tiny little dog that he and his family owned. He said the weight requirements were probably right in line with what this little guy needed. I was hesitant at first to give the dog the pill, just because he was so weak and had very little food in his system. But after weighing our options, and looking at the dog laying in the tote with zero energy, I knew we had to take the chance to try to get the ticks that were sucking the life clean out of him, off of him, and as soon as possible. This pill was either going to kill him or save him, and I hoped for the best while I sat there and watched him chew it up and swallow it.

We had brisket for dinner that night, and if you are wondering if I saved some for the dog, the answer is yes, I absolutely did. The staff all had our own rooms, and I didn't even think to ask before I carried that purple Rubbermaid tote right over to my room and straight inside. I spent the next hour or so watching that little dog cautiously walk around the room, sniffing, investigating, and checking every few seconds if I was still there. He shook constantly. I imagine it was due to the combination of hunger, exhaustion, and being scared. I talked to him to try to make him more comfortable, I fed him little bits of brisket and dog food, off and on, and made sure he was drinking some water. 

I put the tote right next to my bed, knowing darn good and well that there was a possibility that he may not make it through the night. He was eating and drinking, but he just didn't look good. I got into bed, still trying to figure out what had happened that evening, and what I was going to do with this dog. My partner, Chance, made it very clear on an earlier phone call that evening that keeping him was out of the question. I agreed, but only because we already had two Catahoulas, which are fairly good sized dogs, living in the house, and one of them simply doesn't like other dogs. Plain and simple, I was afraid this little dog would be eaten by Ady and Teddy.

Getting ready for bed.

Throughout the night, I would roll over and shine the light from my phone down into the purple tote, to check on the dog. I truly never knew if he was going to be alive or not, but each time, he would open his eyes and look up at me. This little guy was a fighter, no question. The area of Oklahoma we were in had black bears, coyotes, bobcats, eagles, hawks, and I imagine a handful of other wildlife that could have easily caused the demise of this tiny little brown dog. But somehow, someway, he didn't let it happen.  

Sunday morning, I had a responsibility to take my new hunter back out to try again for a turkey. This would be our last hunt of the weekend, so we were going no matter what. I took the dog outside to try to use the bathroom, then I gave him a little more brisket and dogfood, before putting him in the bathroom with a towel to lay on and a bowl of water, and shutting the door. August and I went hunting but between the complete and utter lack of birds in the area and our focus being on this dog, we really just ended up sitting under a big tree and having great conversation.

After we got back to camp, and I made sure everyone else was doing ok, I headed back to my room to check on the dog and to start packing up my belongings. The camp was ending that afternoon, so I needed to get a plan in place for this little guy, and quick, because I knew I couldn't take him all the way back to Indiana with me. 

I walked into my room and opened the bathroom door to a sweet little dog wagging his tail and crying for attention. He had messed on the floor, but other than that, he was fine. I cleaned up the mess while he wondered around my room, and then I fed him again. Sitting on the floor, watching him eat, and looking into those two different colored eyes was hard, knowing I would have to eventually part ways with him. I had a FaceTime call with Chance and Cianni, his twelve-year-old daughter, and the first thing Cianni said was, "You're going to keep him aren't you?".  I immediately said no, and Chance echoed that sentiment. 

My next task, since I had some down time before the other hunters and mentors came back to camp, was going to be removing ticks. There were probably thirty or forty that were laying dead in the purple tote that morning, when I lifted the dog out of it. I am so glad I took the chance and gave him the medicine the night before, and I am also so glad for Alfred's generosity. That pill probably saved this dog's life.

The amount of ticks I removed from him in about fifteen minutes.
This wasn't nearly all of them.

I started picking the ticks off one by one, and it was heartbreaking just how many there were. Many were dead or dying at this point, several were still going strong, but all of them were attached. The saddest thing for me was watching this little fella wince or hearing him yelp when I tried to remove a tick that was in a sensitive spot like his "arm pits" or around his muzzle or eyes. There were just SO MANY. While I was working on him, August ventured down to my room and offered to help. I think they were as smitten with this little dog as I was, which is why I tried to convince them to take the dog home with them. August really considered it, but after careful consideration, they had to decline. 

I talked with my dear friend Stacey, who had the idea of bringing the dog back to Indiana, and taking him to a rescue that her friend owned. The rescue was located roughly twenty-five minutes from my house, so I would potentially have the option to visit the little guy if I wanted to. One of our camp guests, Hillary, also considered the idea of one of her family members taking the dog. Her brother was a student at I.U. in Bloomington, so I could take the dog to him. But she wouldn't have an answer for a few days, so I was still going to have the dog until then. 

When it was all said and done, I had no takers with our camp guests, and camp was over, I decided to take the dog back to Indiana and to the rescue. I loaded up the purple Rubbermaid tote into the passenger seat of my truck, strapped it in with the seatbelt, and plopped the little brown dog in it for a long drive home. I wasn't the only one leaving Oklahoma with a dog. Gabby, my co-worker at the time, took the larger dog that had been hanging around camp, back to Colorado with her. She really bonded with the dog over the weekend and just decided to keep her. 

I made a stop not long after leaving Spring Valley Ranch, at a Dollar General, to pick up a small bag of dogfood, a collar, leash, two little dog beds, two small dog bowls and a few new beach towels. I had no idea what to expect driving this dog over eight hours back home, but I wanted to be prepared for accidents and possible car sickness. Thanks goodness for preparedness and for the container this little guy was riding in. There was no sickness, but there were a few times I didn't get stopped in time for him to pee, so he just peed right where he laid. He'd get up, move to the other end of the tote and go right back to sleep. The extra towels and the second dog bed came in mighty handy.

I found a hotel on the southwest side of St. Louis that would allow dogs and was cheap, because with how physically, and by now, mentally exhausted I was, I knew I needed to stop for the night. We got into the room and got situated with food and water for him, and Pizza Hut delivery for me, before calling it a night. I knew this dog still had living ticks on him and I knew he was dirty and smelled, but you can bet your ass that not only did he sleep in that hotel bed with me, but he slept on my chest, all night. I never thought twice about it. 

Waiting for pizza at the hotel.

The next morning is where things got complicated. He did great for the remainder of the trip, he slept almost the entire four hours of the drive, while only having one accident. I, on the other hand, did not do great, in fact, I started crying the minute I put him back in that tote and got back on the road. I didn't just cry a little, I cried a lot, and for the entirety of the drive home. There were times that I was sobbing, all while he was sound asleep. I wanted to keep this dog. I knew I loved him, after only roughly thirty six hours of knowing him. But I knew I couldn't keep him, it would never work with my other two dogs and Chance had already said no. It was his house after all, even though I had lived there for almost nine years. He didn't want another dog in the house, and I understood that. 

I drove straight to my friend Stacey's house. I was sobbing when I got there, and I never stopped sobbing. I followed her to the rescue that her friend owned and pulled in the driveway. The man, John who runs the rescue with his partner, Wendy, came outside to meet us. I got the dog out of the truck, still sobbing, mind you, and walked toward the house. The dog got scared by the other animals that were there and peed all over me, but I wasn't about to let go of him. We took him into the house and he wouldn't stop shaking. They had four other, bigger dogs and they were all coming at him, as dogs do, and he wasn't having it. He growled and snapped at two of them. I felt the pit in my stomach grow deeper. I couldn't leave him here. 

Right after arriving at the rescue.

I handed this tiny, brown dog who I was now in love with over to John to hold and get to know, as we all sat on the floor together, and he came right back to me. John said "Wow, he's really attached to you.", which made me cry harder. I finally made myself get up off the floor and walk to the door. I had to force myself to walk out the door and leave. I was devastated. I am actually tearing up right now just thinking about that moment. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. 

I drove home, crying all the way. Once there, I unpacked my truck and hugged Ady and Teddy tighter than I ever have. Of course, they smelled the other dog all over me and had questions. I unpacked, started laundry and cleaned the house up a little, hoping for a distraction from my heartache. Nothing made it any better. Chance puled into the driveway an hour later and I met him at his vehicle before he could even get his door open. "I'm keeping the dog", I said with tear streaming down my face. "No, you aren't", he replied. I pleaded with him, and tried to convince him that it would all be ok. He finally said "Fine", although I knew he wasn't happy about it. 

I immediately called Stacey and asked her if she could go pick the dog up and keep him for the night at her house and I would pick him up the next morning. I needed to go buy a crate, and some other necessary items for him so he would be comfortable when I brought him to our house. She laughed and agree to go get him. He was at the rescue for all of an hour and a half. I was so grateful that John and Wendy understood and were kind enough to hand him back over after agreeing to take him into their home in the first place. 

A few hours later, Chance had changed his mind. He had time to think about the situation over a few beers and came into the house to tell me about it. He looked me straight in the eyes while I was sitting on the love seat in our living room and told me that if I brought that dog to this house, I would have to find somewhere else to live, and he was dead serious. I looked up at him and without hesitation and replied "That's fine, but the dog stays with me until I can find a place to live and get my things packed", and I was just as serious. His face went blank, He knew I wasn't backing down. His expression changed almost immediately and his jawline started to soften. It was obvious to him in that moment how much I cared about this little dog who randomly stumbled upon me, in a forest of northeast Oklahoma, just a few days earlier. He knew there was no sense in arguing with me, the dog was coming home to live with us.

That night was the longest night of my life and while I was completely exhausted, I could barely sleep. I picked him up the next morning after a trip to Walmart, and we headed straight to the vet. He weighed barely nine pounds, he was emaciated, dirty, had one eye that he couldn't open all the way, a back leg that worked only half the time, a singed spot on his tail, and he just laid on the exam table. The vet tech's took such good care of him, carefully removing the remaining ticks, checking him over and giving him all the pets. The reason he couldn't open his eye all the way was because he had two tiny ticks on the underside of his eyelid. I felt terrible for him when they found those. 

The vet himself, listened intently as I told him how I found this dog, and he couldn't believe he survived the environment. He estimated based on how the dog looked and how many ticks were on him initially that he could have been out there for a month or better. A MONTH. How did this little guy survive that? He had blood drawn so he could be tested for three different tick-borne diseases and heartworms, and he received a shot of vitamin B12 under the skin since he was so malnourished. He yelped out in pain when he got that, but it would help him absorb nutrients as he began to eat more in the coming days. He ended up testing positive for only one thing, thankfully, which was Ehrlichia, from the ticks. It can cause various symptoms like lethargy, depression, fever, and the most dangerous issue, spontaneous bleeding. Ehrlichia can be treated with antibiotics, which is what we started immediately, as well as a de-wormer.

Our first vet visit.

Once home from the vet, I carefully introduced him to Ady and Teddy, and to my surprise, he never acted aggressively to them like he did to the dogs at the rescue. Maybe because he was able to sense that I was comfortable with them, I don't know. Even more surprising though, was how Ady and Teddy reacted to him. They were both scared of him. Like to the point that they went down the hall and hid from him. Eventually they came around, but refused to get to close to him. It was pretty comical, but more than that, it was a big relief.

Cianni came to visit the next evening, and I met her at the door with our newest family member. As soon as she opened the door she gasped and said " I KNEW you would keep him!", and in that moment I admitted that I wanted to keep him the moment I laid eyes on him. That is just who I am.

I decided to name him "Buddy". Chance wanted to name him "Steve", which is what he tries to name every dog we get, for whatever reason. I considered a name tied to Oklahoma that was catchy, but nothing fit him. I settled on Buddy because the first time I talked to him out in the woods on that Saturday afternoon, as he laid there so desperate for help, hanging on to whatever life he had left in him, that's what I called him. The name just fit.

A few days after getting settled, he was so incredibly thin. 

He slept for about two weeks after I brought him home. He had terrible separation anxiety, which made complete sense, given his situation. He wouldn't let me out of his sight and if I went anywhere without him, he cried and howled until I came back, regardless of how long I was gone. He and the dogs bonded, it was much quicker with Teddy than Ady, which we expected. He has gained weight and is now up to eleven pounds, which is most likely where he will stay. We did genetic testing and he is 49.7% Beagle, 36.1% Chihuahua, 7.4% Cocker Spaniel, and 6.8% Super Mutt. He definitely presents as a Beagle, no question, but if you ask me, I think he is 100% Super Mutt!

We only had one scare with him, and that was when I took him to get neutered. Long story short, he almost died on the operating table. Basically his breathing fell off and once that was stable and they were going to proceed, his heart essentially stopped. They gave him emergency meds to get it going again and made a wonderful decision to abort the surgery altogether. They think he had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. So Buddy will stay intact, after everything he did to survive in the wilderness after being dumped by some heartless monster, I sure as hell wasn't going to kill him with an unnecessary surgery. 

Buddy and Teddy play as if they are the same size, even though Ted has about ninety pounds on him. Buddy grooms Teddy constantly, sometimes too much for Ted's liking. He and Ady are becoming closer now that we don't crate Buddy anymore. They have the run of the house together during the day, and Ady has never once acted aggressive toward him. Buddy loves to hunt in the yard for anything he can catch a scent on. I keep him on a leash though, due to the way people drive on our road and for fear that he will jump a rabbit and I'll never see him again. Occasionally, Buddy gets nasty with Ted, but I think that's because he wasn't neutered and they are both males trying to be in charge. But we all know that Ady is really the one in charge around here, and neither of the boys ever mess with her.

Ady, Buddy, and Teddy.

And if you are wondering if Buddy ever grew on Chance, all you have to do is see them together. Chance is obsessed. He wants to pick Buddy up and hold him all the time, whether Buddy wants him to or not. And a year later, Chance still calls him "Steve".

Chance and Buddy on day four. 

Buddy is my best little friend.  I still see how grateful he is every time he looks at me. But I wish I could get him to understand that I am equally as grateful that he found his way to me that day. I have had dogs all my life and I have loved every one of them deeply, no question, including Ady and Teddy. But there is just something different about Buddy. He's got a huge personality, he's so expressive, and he is very affectionate. I never thought I could love a dog this much, but I do, and I make sure to tell him, every single night as he's falling asleep on my chest.

2021, The Year I Almost Drowned

 

It's the time of year that many of us take some time to reflect back on the year that was, and think about the things that brought us joy, the times we struggled, and how we ended up where we did when it was all said and done.

I've had a few weeks off work to ponder many things, and while we are only a few days into the new year, I feel like I have to set my intentions right now. I'm not going to lie, it's not an easy thing to do when I don't even know what direction I am going. It's even harder to look to the future after having what was undoubtedly one of the most difficult years I have had in a long time. 

I have a tendency to get scared when good things are coming my way. I live with the idea that the other shoe will inevitably drop. Blame it on anxiety, blame it on the occurrences of this happening throughout my life, blame it on self-sabotage, or blame it on a multitude of other ridiculous thoughts that run through my mind. The fact of the matter is, I get scared regardless of where I place the blame.

I rolled into 2021 knowing that there were going to be some significant challenges, but I didn't know it would be a year that could have easily sunk me, and almost did. I was starting a new job in a new career field after twenty-five years doing something else. I was designing and building a program from the ground up, learning about event planning, logistics, talking to loads of people I didn't know and making big asks of them, calling state agencies all over the country trying to make sense of the many different regulations in each state, scheduling events, canceling events, vetting mentors, vetting hosts, sending invoices, issuing refunds, answering non-stop emails all hours of the day and night, hitting non-stop roadblocks, keeping non-stop frustrations from turning into meltdowns, working alone, almost 1,100 miles from my co-workers, who often met face-to-face, and working for a minimal salary. 

Like I said, challenges. Add a completely unexpected addition to our family with the cutest dog on the planet, who just happens to have some challenges of his own, and we have ourselves a real party. 

Buddy, the little lost dog who stole my heart.

I believed in the mission that was my job, at least initially. It was only six months earlier that I was trying to figure out how I could start a non-profit to build out workshops to teach people what it meant to be a hunter. It was only six hours before I was offered the job, that I was sitting in a deer blind after mentoring a new hunter the night before, daydreaming of a way to turn what I was doing into a career. Imagine my shock when I was given the chance to do just that, that very same day. I kept trying to figure out if there was another shoe and what may cause it to drop, but finally, I just decided to take my chances and accept the position. 

Without going into many details or disparaging anyone for why I walked away from what I thought was my dream job, I will just say this; it simply wasn't the right fit for me, for a multitude of reasons.

I surprisingly made that realization early in the year, specifically after learning that the idea of a non-profit model, grant applications, eliminating barriers, and truly making the program accessible for "everyone", had shifted to a "pay" model, one I wasn't comfortable with, nor believed was right. I struggled to plead my case in a way that would change my employer's mind, after all, this was new to all of us, we truly were building the airplane while we were flying it, as one of my co-workers would always say. I just knew that in the pit of my stomach, I felt uncomfortable. Turns out, that feeling would grow as time progressed, and take me down a road I had never travelled and never want to travel again. 

If you know me very well at all, I think it's fairly easy to see that I have a passion for taking new hunters to the woods. I have said many times that I feel like I owe the outdoors so much for what it has given me in the way of  helping me heal from years of trauma, in building me back up to the very best version of myself, and for giving me a purpose in this life I never would have imagined. I have also said many times, both privately and publicly, that I will take anyone hunting if they genuinely want to go. No strings attached. 

Colby, waiting for a whitetail

However, the new found "strings" that were attached to doing so as part of my job, caused me the most anguish. This was the proverbial shoe that was dropping and I couldn't stop it. 

Imposter syndrome is when you are afraid that people are going to find out that you are a fraud, like you don't really know what you're doing, and you got to where you are by dumb luck. I have talked about suffering from imposter syndrome in the past, but this was something different, this was real.

I started having trouble sleeping back in May. It wasn't due to the stress of building a worthy education curriculum, or trying to find gracious landowners who would host us for events so I could continue to schedule into the fall and winter seasons. I mean, it could have been due to those things, but it wasn't, those things were just part of the job. This was way more personal than that. It was because I really was a fraud. I was promoting something that I didn't believe in. I was selling my soul for $375 a week salary, and it was killing me on the inside.

I read a post on Instagram recently, it was from one of those self-care type pages I follow, and it was a picture showing a list of things that could indicate you are depressed. After all of the things I have dealt with in my life, I never once considered myself depressed. Anxious, yes, depressed, never. At least not until that moment, or so the list suggested. It mentioned things like withdrawing from friends and family, loss of interest in things you enjoy, change in sleep patterns, re-watching the same movies or television shows over and over because they bring comfort, etc. I can honestly say I could put a big green check mark next to all of those I just listed.

I stopped answering phone calls from friends, I never wanted to leave the house, I stopped taking care of myself, I didn't go hiking, I didn't go fishing, I didn't work out, I barely even hunted this year. I feel like I have a personal relationship with Paul and Prue from The Great British Baking Show due to how many times I had the same episodes playing in the background while I worked. I was so consumed with my job and how conflicted I was about how that job was making me feel, that I didn't know what to do with myself. I could see what was happening to me, but for whatever reason I couldn't pull myself out of it. 

The weird part of it all, is that as a result, I worked even harder, because I thought if I did my job well enough, if I gave the attendees that very best experience possible and sent them home feeling like their lives had changed in a significant way, it would justify me sticking it out. It would help me look past the intense feelings of guilt I had every time I posted a new event that, due to the price tag, was alienating the very people I thought I would be helping when I signed on for this gig. My hard work didn't justify a damn thing, it just made me more resentful.

I recorded a handful of podcasts this year that I refuse to listen to, because while on them, I spent a good portion of time talking about how great these events were and why people should attend. Don't get me wrong the events were in fact great experiences, but that wasn't where the issue was for me. The last podcast I recorded, I specifically asked the host if we could NOT talk about my job or what I do for a living.  I just couldn't stomach talking about it anymore. She was gracious enough to have me on the podcast anyway and we ended up having a discussion that was way more meaningful to me in the big picture.

I worked every day during my early October hunting trip to Wyoming with Chance, and believe me, he is still pissed about that and he has every right to be. I'm pissed that I did it. That is supposed to be our time, but I responded to every email, every voicemail, sent invoices, and gave updates on Slack, rather than completely "checking out" the way I should have. I needed that break, and I didn't take advantage of it, I regret that. 

By the time I made my way to Montana, the first week of November, I made a decision that I was going to check out this time, because at that point I had already decided I was going to quit my job. I debated going to Montana at all, Chance had been laid off and my miniscule salary did very little to keep us afloat. Chance insisted I go, I think by then he realized I was at my breaking point and seeing a few of my Montana friends may do me some good. I barely had the money to drive to Montana in the first place and once there, I was sleeping in my truck, eating snacks for my meals, and praying I had enough money to get back to Indiana. 

Eastern Montana block management area, November 3rd, 2021 

Most all of my friends canceled their trip to Eastern Montana that week, due to life events that couldn't be avoided, so I was alone for much of the three days I spent there, chasing mule deer. I was insanely disappointed the plans had fallen apart, but the time alone gave me the clarity and the courage I needed to walk away from something that I was never going to agree with, no matter how hard I tried. 

So that's what I did. But first, I worked extremely hard to get everything ready for the remaining events. I had poured everything I had into making these experiences the best they could be for people who dished out a ton of money to attend. I may not have liked what I was doing, but I was still going to do it well. I didn't attend the December events after learning my dad was having some health issues, but I had every intention of going to both of them, I was committed to working until the end. I prepared everything for the January events so all anyone had to do was show up, I also made and submitted notes on how to finish the last few tasks hanging out there. There were a few challenges that would have needed to be handled for one of the camps, but it could be done. In the end, I was unable to complete my commitment of staying through December 31st, but that was not my choice. 

So it's over. The other shoe dropped, I picked them both up, slipped them on, and walked away.  

I have no idea what is next. As I sit here I am awaiting a phone call to tell me whether or not I was chosen for a position with a non-profit organization here in Indiana. I want the job, I really do. I didn't meet the requirements that were listed on the job description, but I applied anyway. I figured after the hurdles I have overcome over that last year, I could battle through and do this job very well. I am one of three finalists, but even if I don't get the call I am hoping for, it's not going to crush me. I did the very best I could do, I'm proud of that. 

I also did the very best I could do for the other employer. I drank from a firehouse for about twelve months and while I almost drowned, I resurfaced at just the right time. 

My intentions are pretty simple moving forward into 2022 and beyond. I will always stick to what I believe in, regardless of what opportunities I may lose along the way. I will make sure I am compensated equal to what I am worth, I know my value and I will never work for pennies on "good faith" ever again. I will care for myself, and get back to doing the things I love. I will give my family my undivided attention when I am "off the clock", and trust me, there will be a clock. I'll continue to take new hunters to the woods, and there will never be strings (or a price tag) attached.

A friend recently told me that he had hopes that after I have time to reflect on this last year, that I would find there was a "net gain", rather than a "net loss". I realize that there was indeed a net gain, I learned so much about so many things, and I have come to the conclusion that all of the knowledge I am walking into 2022 with, will help me succeed in whatever I decide to do next. I also met some amazing humans at our events, and I was incredibly fortunate to join some of them on their very first hunt. Those relationships and those memories made the hardest parts of the last year, just a little bit easier. 

To those folks, I say thank you and I hope to see you in the woods again someday.  

My last event, Wisconsin, Oct. 2021