The story of my first antelope also happens to be one of my favorite love stories–but not the kind that’s ravishingly romantic.
My husband and I had just reunited at our truck after splitting up to look for antelope. I was late because a small herd had conned me into a mean game of chase and I’d spent the last hour or so trying to get within shooting range; but the wind wasn’t blowing in my favor and every time I closed in, one of the buggers would call my bluff and alert the others. They finally put so much distance between us that I knew I couldn’t win. I reached into my pocket to see if I could get a call out on my cell, but my zipper was halfway open and no there was no phone to be found. Feeling doubly defeated, I headed toward our rig.
“Sorry—was chasing those antelope we saw earlier, no luck… lost my phone,” I muttered in response to his “Where have you been?” face.
“You wanna find your phone?”
“Yeah, but after jumping over ditches, slithering through sage brush, and sneaking after those darn antelope for miles, I just don’t think it’s worth the time.”
“Okay,” he said. “Enjoy the iPhone, Mother Nature,” I sighed. The only thing I’d really miss was the Hello Kitty case anyway.
We loaded up our gear and weary selves and drove to one final spot, which we decided to hunt till sunset. Our bodies were ready to give up, but our minds and desire for meat were not.
Chris spotted a group of three right away and we gave pursuit. The area was endowed with more bushes and hills than the last one, helping us to gain ground without spooking them.
I finally got my shot and took it. All the exhaustion transformed into elation as we snapped a few pics and commenced with the field dressing. Funny, though, how that exhaustion returns once you start gearing up for the haul back.
Chris then surprised me by handing me his rifle and hoisting the animal to his shoulders. “Head to the truck”, he said. “I know you want to get back to the kiddo sooner than later, and this will just be faster.”I protested a little (because it was not a quick jaunt to the truck, people), but he was right and I gave in.
It wasn’t until later that I had a revelation of sorts. I’ve always been the strong-minded type—the “I-can-do-it-myself-,” “I’m-practically-related-to-Wonder-Woman-” kind of girl. The fact that princesses always seemed to need rescuing bugged me.
The Bible verse that speaks of giving honor to a woman as to the “weaker vessel” bothered me, too. But upon deeper reflection, I realized what it’s really saying is that fragile containers are like fine china. They’re not meant to be thrown around like Tupperware. They’re “weaker” because they’re made out of the finer stuff in the pottery world, and they’re meant to be treated with care—honored, cherished.
My husband knows I’m strong. He knows I can take care of myself. He knows I want to pull my weight, but he wants to honor and cherish me. Sometimes he does so by letting me go off on my own (after triple-checking that the first aid kit is still in my pack), and sometimes he does so by throwing an antelope—MY antelope—on his back.
Now that’s a man. That’s love. That’s my love.