The Day I Shot T4

This was originally going to be a short reply to the other thread but as this is the start of a new rifle season, it might be useful for some of you to read this, so I started a thread. Please, don't make me regret it as I have not really spoken to anyone about this in detail other than my wife and therapist. Writing can be good therapy, so if you don't want to read this stream of consciousness then:

TLDR version: Stay safe. Hug your loved ones. Tell them you love them. Happy hunting.

As most of you regulars know (or maybe you don't), I'm the one that was on the other side of the rifle that beautiful, horrid day T4 has told you about. And to those of you that knew and were understanding, I thank you. I've felt like I don't belong in the circle of trust ever since. And when the story made it here, I rarely showed my face, hardly posted at all for a while. I'm still mad at myself, embarrased, regretful. God, am I regretful. So thank you for not prying for an explanation from me or lashing out at me. I appreciate it.

Some of you, however, think that you must be impervious to tragedy based on some of the comments I've read over the course of several threads where it's been brought up. You might not think so, but you and I are almost the same guy. We grew up as boy scouts, we always just did the right thing. We were taught by responsible mentors the "right" way to do things. We were so lucky to have family, friends, and professionals in some cases, show us the way. Hard work. Preparedness. Safety. Always safe. Always on top of our shite. Growing up, people came to us for advice all things outdoors. You and I practiced religously. We were prepared. We were safe. Always safe. Always. We encouraged others to do the same. We walked the walk.

But on this day, I got distracted. Maybe taken off-guard. I don't know. Maybe there was a glitch in the matrix (more on that later.) That day was just like any other successful morning in the woods. Until it wasn't.

T4 had shot him a dandy of an 8 point already. I met him at the truck, and he took me to the spot where he'd shot him. Then we loaded that beautiful bag of delicious venison in the back of the truck. Probably make a good Euro mount too. Of course, we went through the scenario of how it happened. "I was going this way, and I heard something over there. Looked up. There he was, yada yada, bang." Dead deer. Cool. T4 strikes again. That's a deer/hog killing SOB. We should do jerkey this time. Maybe do the heart with onions in the cast iron. Hell yeah. Good day.

And we were on our happy way. Headed home.

It happened so fast. We were driving out from the bottom in the muddy, narrow road, buck in tow. Thickets on both sides of us when we get to a section of road that opens up a bit into a curve. At the mouth of the thicket to the left, T4 spots a hog's head poking out. "Hog!" he yells and grabs his BAR .308 and jumps out. I grab my A Bolt 7-08 and follow suit out the passenger side. "You go up there, and I'll look this way to see if they come out," he said. Got it. He'll be right there and I go up a little ways and start scanning the brush through my scope. I can hear the hogs, I just cant see them yet. It sounds like a decent sized group of them. They're never alone you know. I hear snorting. Black. I see black. I hear hog. Another flash of black. If I let them go, I may not get another shot at them. I fire a shot. And another. I think i hit it. At least one of them.

But then the strangest thing happened. I didn't hear a squeal. It was T4 that I heard. A terrifying scream.

I still hear it when he calls my name now. The fear. The terror he must have felt. The fear, the terror that I still feel today, it's crippling. We literally see each other every day, too. It's so strange to have such an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and thankfulness equaled by shame and guilt when I go back to that day mentally. Disgust. I'm still so disgusted with myself. So careless. So stupid. So. fricking. stupid. Always be sure of your target. Always. It could have been so much worse.

He yelled my name repeatedly. Just enough time in between to grab a breath and repeat. I knew immediately that I had fricked up. I was running. I didn't even realize it. My body just kind of started acting as it should. I just ran. He kept screaming. I'm still holding my rifle for some reason.

"I'm coming buddy! I'm coming! Hold on!" I kept replying. I kept thinking while I yelled for him to hold on: "What the frick happened?! How?! He wasn't supposed to be there! He had a fricking black shirt on! Was he literally chasing hogs?? Where was his orange? Did he have it on and I just not see it?! Where did I hit him? Lungs? Leg?? Please God let it just be a flesh wound..." on and on it went.

It's amazing what a brain can process in such a short time frame. The thought that he might be dead in a matter of seconds crossed my mind. I thought to myself that there's a good chance that I'll just end it for me too when i get there if I had just killed him. What had I just done? What am I going to find at the other end of those screams? Oh God help me.

That's how quick the guilt sat in. I wouldn't have deserved to walk out of there. He has 3 kids. A wife. Mom and dad. Brothers. Sister. No way they'd ever forgive me. No way I'd forgive me. I still haven't. At the time I was just married. No kids. I have a 1 year old and another on the way. I love them so much. I'm so glad T4 can know them, play with them.

When I finally got to him (we're about 3 or 4 minutes removed from t4 yelling "Hog!" at this point) what I found was the toughest son of a bitch I've ever met laying on the ground with a hole in his neck calmly saying, "You shot me." I don't remember exactly what I said as I grabbed/ripped a shirt to attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was something along the lines of, "OHMYGODISHOTYOUfrickDUDEIMSOSORRYCANYOUMOVEYOURLEGS?AREYOUOK?IMSOSORRYOHMYGODGRABMYHANDANDSQUEEZEAREYOUOK?HOLDON911?YESIJUSTSHOTMYFRIEND"

After that, things are much more blurry. Game wardens came. Sheriff's deputies were there. A helicopter came and picked him up. His brother was there. I cried. A lot. I drew a picture for the wardens to explain what happened. Another friend of ours came and picked me up and drove me to Memphis. I cried the whole way. And I'm crying now as I relive those emotions. I didn't know what was going to happen. I just knew I was ashamed of myself. How could I? How could I have done this? What if I just killed my best friend?

Miraculously, as you all know by now, he was a total freaking rockstar at the med. Up and walking almost immediately, keeping the whole hallway encouraged. The nurses loved him. He was ok. I still have my friend.

Thank God.

(Cont.)