If any of you have seen me walking around dressed totally in black, I'm not trying to impersonate Johnny Cash. Nor am I trying to look like Elvira (As If ). The truth is, I am in mourning. Yes, this is my widow's garb.

I usually wear it about four months out of the year. From September to January. You see, I'm a "Deer Hunter's Widow".

Now, if any of you wives out there have deer hunting husbands, you know what I'm talking about. They start fading away toward the end of August, spending all their time either out looking for deer signs, browsing the outdoor clothing stores or looking at guns and cross bows. Either that or they're on the phone with their buddies talking about deer signs, outdoor clothing and guns and cross bows.

Something strange happens to these normally sane men whenever the deer go into rut. They turn into maniacs with guns. And neither rain nor snow nor dark of night, nor tears, nor threats, nor quadruple bypass surgery can keep them from their appointed tree stands. It's like they go all postal on us. They leave the house before daylight, come home at dark, fall asleep, sometimes with their face in the mashed potatoes, then around four o'clock in the morning we hear the pitter-patter of little hunting boots going out the door. I've heard tell that a couple of these men have  even brought a deer home with them on occasion.

And don't you just hate to think about these animals being killed. I feel sad about them shooting the deer. A deer is such a beautiful animal, with those big soft brown eyes and all. Of course they're equally beautiful when they're sizzling on the grill, or when  they're on a plate with a side of potatoes and carrots...

I talked Hubby into taking me deer hunting with him once. I'm not a pampered house wife. I know how to handle a gun, (which is very, very carefully) and I also know how to dress for the cold which involves four pairs of socks, fifty pounds of goose down and a pair of insulated unmentionables. I just don't know a whole lot about hunting big game or being a crazed maniac.

On the morning of the hunt, we got out of bed about five minutes after I closed my eyes. We got dressed and headed off to the mountains.  After much walking and severe frostbite Hubby stopped and began climbing the tree where his tree stand awaited.

"I think I'll go hunt on the other side of the ridge," I told him.

"Are you sure you'll be okay," he asked, "There are bears and mountain lions out there and it's still dark."

I gave him a withering look which of course he couldn't see. "Honey, you forget that I go shopping at the mall during a shoe sale. I'm certainly not worried about a few wild animals."

He didn't answer and I wasn't sure if he even heard me. I turned and waddled off toward the other side of the ridge, then I remembered. "Honey," I yelled.

"What now," he hissed, reminding me of a cat that had encountered a strange dog. If I didn't know better I would think he was trying to get rid of me.

"How do you hunt deer?"

By now it was beginning to get daylight and I thought I saw the whites of his eyes glaring at me from the top of the tree.

"Honey," he said in the same tone of voice he uses to talk to our little grandson, "Just look around on the ground as you walk. Be real quiet and see if you can spot some tracks. If you find some keep following them and you're bound to run upon a deer. Then when you do, just shoot it." He snuggled back into his tree stand and I kind of got the impression that he wanted me to stop talking to him so I waddled on, searching for a sign of tracks in the frozen ground.

I had walked about half a mile when I spotted them. Big tracks! I smiled to myself imagining how I was going to rub it in when I killed me a big twelve point. So I followed the tracks up to the top of a hill and that's when I almost got hit by the train. That's the last time he let me go with him.

Now I stay home and wait until it's over, wearing my black widow's garb and counting the days until I have a husband again. I guess in one way I'm kind of lucky though.

He could be one of those men who loves football.