It was deer hunting season and Uncle Ron, Dad and I were scouring the hillside for any sign of the animals. We had returned to the truck and had plans to head home when Ron decided to walk over to a nearby ravine and have a quick look.
Dad and I sat in the truck as Ron stood at the ravine’s edge, looking the area over through the scope on his hunting rifle. Suddenly he jumped and turned quickly to his left.
As he did, he lowered his rifle as if he were planning to shoot something. But he was too late in squeezing the trigger and the shot went high.
Within a second or two, Ron was laying on his back near the bottom of the ravine. I was racing to help him while Dad stood guard over us with his rifle at the ready.
Fortunately, Uncle Ron got up on his own and he was unhurt. However it was the first and only time he was attacked by a yearling.
Much to Uncle Ron’s discomfort, we laughed about it all the way home.