Why we don't eat Venison

I saw this gem at Idgie's Place today, trying to catch up, and I reminded me... (cue the going back in time music)

When I was 21, Bear was just a baby and we lived on the outskirts of Bloomington in a house that was owned by Joe's parents. There was no central heat and half the time we couldn't' afford to pay the electricity bill, so we often cooked and heated the house with the wood stove.

Joe had been gone with his buddies for a couple of days. This was not unusual, and being a young wife I didn't know I was entitled to ask where he had been. Bear was in the swing in the kitchen and I was finishing up some dishes with my back to the door when he came in.

He said hello and I leaned down to wipe my hands on a dishtowel. Before I could turn around, there was a THUNK on the counter beside me. I looked over and there was the hind leg of a deer - fur and hoof intact - from hoof to hip.

He nonchalantly said they had been deer hunting and brought this back for me to clean, then walked into the other room to get a shower.

I went to a private Catholic high school in the suburbs. Meat comes under cellophane.

I did clean the leg, made stew and then froze the rest - but the smell lingered in my nostrils and to this day the smell of venison reminds me of the unpleasant task of butchering the leg for the first time.