I’ve read that the difference between comedy and tragedy sometimes has little to do with the subject matter – it’s a way of looking at life. I try to find the funny side of things.

As I sat in a tree stand during archery season, listening to beagles barking seemingly from all directions, I thought – well, this is funny. It’s like I’m a centered GPS unit, triangulated by three beagles. That’s what beagles do; they can’t help themselves. They bark, and they bark distinctively.

I have nicknames for the beagles, Chop Mouth, Bugle Boy and Rotund-o. On that day, Bugle Boy’s owner was operating a chain saw; presumably the beagle was poking around the slash piles. Ah well, I thought, possibly a deer will appear here at my stand in an effort to escape the barking.

And that’s what happened. A buck appeared trotting but soon slowed, dropped his head and began crunching acorns. A pileated woodpecker began working tree to tree, adding its staccato bug search to the woodland symphony of beagle, woodpecker and buck. Woo woo, rat-a-tat-tat, crunch crunch crunch. Soon I had an opportunity to end the crunch-crunch-crunch part.

I found my arrow and the start of the deer’s trail, opting to recover it in the morning. When I found it, I was mystified – I knew the Grim Reaper broad heads I used made a good entrance hole, but this hole looked like it was made by a torpedo. Something had been inside my deer – a fisher? Fox?

After getting permission, I accessed a neighbor’s land to more easily recover the deer. And then the sad truth was revealed. A certain beagle had returned home the previous evening reeking. And had so engorged itself – another thing that beagles like to do – that it had gotten sick. The tenderloins from the inside of my deer had been partially eaten and also soiled; still, that was funny.

Although I do prefer archery hunting, dutifully and hopefully I found a spot to sit with my rifle during the first Saturday of the firearm season. I also had a thermos of coffee and a selection of snacks. Before 10 a.m., I’d heard more than 20 shots in the area but hadn’t seen any deer. I’d been entertained by a large squirrel, which seemed outraged about where I was sitting. The squirrel is missing most of a back leg and tailless; I wished it could tell me the story.

I’d gone back to the house, not for a potty break, but truth be told to get the Vanilla Wafer cookies, which I’d forgotten. I took the opportunity to rinse out the thermos and fill it with milk. Soon I was back in my spot, eating cookies and milk. One at a time was not satisfactory; I started putting five cookies in the cup of milk at a time.

That’s why I was in the act of virtually lapping a disintegrated cookie from my palm when I realized four does were looking at me. Fortunately, when I reached for the rifle and they spun to run, two of them ran into each other and their escape was delayed just long enough for me to get one in the crosshairs.

Cookies and milk were everywhere; oh well, I thought, quite a treat for a tripod squirrel. As I lugged the field-dressed doe to a spot where I could get it with the ATV, I had to smile. Due to my efforts to hunt deer, a bugle-voiced beagle and a tailless, unbalanced squirrel received unexpected bonanzas, repasts of unexpected riches. With two deer in the freezer, a second doe tag in my pack, and tons of hunting and fishing memories from the past year, I’m feeling kind of rich myself.