It was a hot, summer day in 1994. The late afternoon sun shone brightly in the southern Alberta sky, casting long shadows across the prairie.
On the far western edge of town, a man walked slowly along his property line. Suddenly encountering a buck in the grass a few feet away, he raised his rifle to his eye.
“Don’t point that at me,” said the buck.
“But it’s hunting season,” the man replied.
“If it’s a matter of survival, that’s one thing,” said the buck. “But if it’s a matter of sport, I can think of a better contest.”
“What did you have in mind,” asked the man, slowly lowering his gun?
“A hunting contest,” said the buck.
“Haha. What does a deer know about hunting,” asked the man?
“I eat animals, occasionally,” replied the buck.
“Is that right,” asked the man?
“Yes it is,” said the buck. “How about this,” he continued, “the hunter who catches the best meal wins?”
“Wins what,” asked the man?
“I’d like my freedom,” said the buck.
“That seems reasonable,” said the man. “But how will we judge the contest?”
“We can vote,” said the buck.
“What if it’s a tie,” asked the man?
“We can ask one of the forest creatures to help us,” said the buck.
“Any one of the them will side with you,” said the man.
“Not necessarily,” replied the buck.
The man laughed again. "What will I win," he asked.
"What do you want," asked the buck?
“I want you to come back if I let you go,” said the man.
“Come back to what,” asked the buck?
"Dinner, with me," said the man.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s meet back here in an hour.”
“Okay,” said the man.
Man and buck leave the scene.
Deep in the forest the man stalks his prey.
The buck spies his target.
The man raises his gun.
The buck draws back a hoof.
Finger on the trigger.
Leg in the air.
Squeeze.
Stomp.
Cut to the dinner scene.
“You look wet,” said the man?
“I went for a swim,” said the buck, “to catch you this. Rocky Mountain Whitefish, with a side of Saskatoon berries.”
“Thank you,” said the man, "and I've got a little something for you. BBQ duck, seasoned with dandelion root."
“Thank you,” said the buck.
“Shall we eat,” asked the man, unfolding a pocketknife.
“Let’s,” said the Buck.
As man and buck begin to eat the wind picks up slightly and the buck’s tail begins to flap gently.
“Are you from around here,” the man asked?
“Just moved here,” replied the man, "from the U.S." He gestured toward a house on a nearby hill. “I inherited it from my uncle,” he said.
“Welcome to Alberta,” said the buck.
“Thank you,” said the man. “What about you,” he asked?
“I was born just over there on that ridge,” said the buck. He gazed across the prairie beyond a stretch of tall grass.
“Looks like a pretty good spot,” said the man. “How’s the duck,” he continued.
“Pretty good,” said the buck. “How's the whitefish?”
“Pretty good,” said the man. “Maybe we should we vote,” he added?
“Maybe,” said the buck. "I'm a little nervous about it, I have to admit," he said.
“Don't be," said the man. "the whitefish is nearly perfect.”
“Nearly,” asked the buck?
“Well," said the man, hesitating. "I think it could use a little seasoning."
“Seasoning," said the buck, "I’m not really sure I know what you mean.”
“Salt. Pepper. That sort of thing,” replied the man. “To bring out the flavour.”
.
“I'm not sure I've ever used seasoning before,” said the buck. “This seems to have put me at a disadvantage.”
“Yes,” said the man nodding, "I think it might."
"I'm guessing you seasoned the duck," said the buck.
"With dandelion root,” said the man.
“What would you say if I told you I seasoned the fish with Saskatoon berries,” asked the buck?
“I'd say not so fast,” said the man. “I sprinkled my dandelion root directly on my duck. I think your berries were more of a side dish.”
“I see,” said the buck, taking a breath “I'd have to counter that I think they still balanced the flavour.”
“Perhaps” replied the man, glancing at his gun. “you should just run off and join your herd.”