Dad hit a deer today. Paddy and him brought it home. Tied it to the roof of the car. The gravel sounded different when they pulled in. Tires dragging the truck along. Army crawl beneath the spring canopy. Pelt splayed across like camouflage netting. “Get out here, Sammy.” I had already come down to the porch. The slow writhing of rubber against grit called me out before he did. 

Buck hadn’t even been field dressed. Guess they didn’t have a knife on them. “Paddy, you seen this?” Dad comes out the shed with his bright orange Butt Out. “Fucking genius. Old Bob down the road had one. Watch.” He pushes the contraption into the ass, right to up to the stopper. Something in me clenches. Twists twice. Tightens. Then pulls. Quick tie around the colon. The little bit of blood doesn’t scare me. Just rinse it off later. “Shit.” Damn right, shit, Paddy.

Used to be a fucking mess. Cutting out the asshole. Main point of contamination. Never know what’s hiding in there. And once it touches anything that’s it. You can basically throw that piece out. You gotta watch out with the butt holes. Dad moves quickly. Guts are already out. Cutting left and right of the tailbone opens those legs right up.

We carry him to the table behind the house. I go get a tarp from the lean to. Know what’s coming. Move it right underneath him. Reminds me of changing my cousin Suzy’s diapers. Gotta keep it clean.

Semi-stiff 6 inch. Tool of choice. It doesn’t matter who makes the cuts. He wields the knife. I pay attention. He is standing next to me, watching over my every move. The leg propped against his shoulder. No weight to it. I used to hold the hoofs up for him. Never actually needed me. Just wanted to make sure I could. He trusts me now. 

A cut in the knuckle. I lock eyes with the rounded end of the bone. Feigned fascination. I know he broke his concentration to gauge where I am looking. Approved and back to the job. The leg bent over in an unnatural position. Snap. Right at the joint. He repeats. “You just need to score it.” Leaves the dangling hocks attached. They’ll come in use for pulling. Glove change. Want to keep the hide untarnished. It's easy to stain it with its own filth. 

My turn. Bring him up to the pulley. Installed it last summer. Hook the gambrel behind the achilles tendons. He knew to watch out for them in the cut. Nature’s hanger straps. Tug him up. Not too far. Want to optimize leverage. Get my fingers around the legs and jerk. Rips right off the flesh when it’s warm like this.

I use my hands. My fists. You want to keep the meat on the bone. Get right in there. First time I put on a rubber it reminded me of the white membrane covering flesh.

Where the neck gathers, I take care to turn the hairs onto themselves. Stuck my hand in there as a kid. Felt warm and soft. Dad cursed. Stripping it like this keeps all the contamination on the inside. 

Hoisted all the way up now. A thin trickle of blood out of the mouth. If it weren’t for the open cavity, I might have thought it had been punched in the face.

Dad goes to make sure there’s space in the freezer. I leave the buck dangling. Take the hide and start cleaning it. Blunt drawing knife will do for the scraping. The dogs have come round. Licking the pelt, they rip at the remaining pieces of flesh. 

After dinner, Paddy stays for beers. I take a cold Coors. Split pieces of bark for boiling. Better to get it done and cooled. Could be as early as tomorrow that the hair comes off. Never know when the hide will be ready. The fur bobs in the plastic bucket of lye. I hear them talk on the porch. Always the same shit. 

Upstairs I lock my door. Their voices trail through the open window. Saddle soap and Huberd’s in the sill. Dark out now. I’ll do it tomorrow. I grab the leather pieces. Smells musky.

The sound they make sends a shiver down my spine. I spread them out on the floor. Ready to get oiled up. Can’t wait to go to San Francisco and get the fuck out.