South Carolina has recently passed laws restricting the use of deer urine. Not a day too soon, after the nightmare experience that I survived last year.
by Michael M. Dewitt, Jr. | Aug 27, 2020 | BIG GAME, HUNTING
South Carolina has recently passed laws restricting the use of deer urine. Not a day too soon, if you ask me–especially after the nightmare experience that I survived last year.
Code Red. Code Blue. Miss Majestic. Doe in Heat. It goes by many brand names. But the marketing whizzes can call it what they want, it’s still whizz. Deer urine. Pee.
Some folks say that this all-natural substance is the best deer attractant on earth. It is predominantly used during “the rut,” which is that period of time in a buck’s life when he becomes obsessed with the opposite sex and starts making bad decisions, which often lead to marriage, court-ordered child support or getting his picture in the local paper posed next to some grinning kid with a high-powered rifle and a “First Buck!” headline.
Other people say that if I spill this substance in their minivan again, I will be getting divorce papers of my own. Thankfully, the wise state of South Carolina has recently passed some laws restricting the use of deer urine. Not a day too soon, if you ask me–especially after the nightmare experience that I survived last year.
I had gotten hold of some righteous doe urine, I mean top-notch stuff (my dealer said it was 100-percent pure, but he wouldn’t say where he got it). But as I sprinkled it on a bush about fifty yards from my treestand, I must have spilled a little on my hand and on my boots.
Have you ever really smelled doe urine? It’s not all that bad.
At first, you may wrinkle your nose. And snort a little. Then you’ll gradually warm up to the aroma of female deer hormones. A man could get used to that smell. The smell of the wild. The smell of the hunt.
Ahhhh, take a deep whiff. A most manly smell indeed! The cologne of the outdoor gods.
Without realizing it, you may start pawing at the floor of the deer stand with one booted foot. Soon, your neck may begin swelling up like that of a big old buck in full rut. You may have to resist the urge to rub your head against the plywood wall of the stand and make a scrape, while marking your territory to warn the other bucks away. You are ready for a rowdy fight with another buck, or romance, whichever comes first.
Your blood may begin pumping male hormones feverishly. Such is the aphrodisiac power of that potent potion that you may even forget that you were human. You might even forget that you were hunting in the same stand with your small and impressionable children.
Luckily for me, no bucks showed up that day, or I’m sure there would have been a heck of a tussle. We would have had to lock horns. No way was I going to let another male into my domain.
And luckily for my young hunting companions, the stand had a rear emergency exit and the kids were able to escape, run home and tell Mommy that Daddy was acting weird again.
A good shower back home cured me of the buck fever and the smell of the manly cologne (I just wish the wife would have let me come inside and take a warm shower instead of spraying me off with the garden hose), but even as I bathed away those delightful vapors, I pondered The Power of the Pee.
What if I could manufacture my own special “lure”? Would it have the same effect on the opposite sex?
I would bottle that tinkle in a jar for my own evil designs, that’s what. I’d sprinkle a little in the living room, around the recliner, just to attract the wife in my direction.
“Oh, honey, can you bring me the remote control and a glass of iced tea while you’re headed this way? And did I mention that you look lovely today in that camouflage skirt?”
I’d be the King of the Forest.
Public Safety Information
While this article is written in jest, there are some serious risks associated with using deer urine while hunting. Never pour it out directly under your deer stand or let it leak and leave a trail back to your hunting camp. The last thing you need is to be stalked and under siege by some lovesick buck camped out below you, serenading you with love songs and Shakespearean sonnets, and making promises you know he won’t keep.