Tell us about your first deer kill.

I'll start.
December 23, 1994.
I'm the happiest kid on earth cause I'm off on Christmas vacation, and dad takes his vacation to coincide with it.
That means hunting just about every day.
I'm sitting in a ladder box stand over looking a powerline right of way with the very same 16 gauge Wingmaster that my brother used to kill his first deer with years earlier. Its about 7:00 AM, and I'm eating my strawberry poptart (breakfast of buck killing ledgends) while other standers are still making their way to their stands. The drivers had not yet turned any dogs loose, when I hear something behind me inside the tree line.
I turn and see a "cow horn" spike flanking the right of way. I pick up the gun, bang it on the side of the stand, click the saftey off, and as the front bead passes the shoulder, yank the trigger. Looking back at this now, surprising most of the load of # 1's finds the vitals, and the buck drops in his tracks, not even flinching.
I stood there shacking like never before, and wait forever to climb down and go look at him.
Mine was the only deer killed that day, and all the older members made me feel proud of myself.
They smeared the traditional blood on my face, and we brought the deer head into the nearby bar room,
where everyone else enjoyed a cold one.


Life was great.