For much of the past two deer seasons, I have spent a lot of time trudging through woods, trying not to fall out of trees, and listening as veteran hunters shared some of their hard-earned secrets.

After rehashing the recently completed season over the past couple of weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that the veteran hunters I know are holding out on me.

Either that, or they’re just too polite to tell me I’ve just got a lot more to learn.

One way or another, I’m determined to figure this deer-hunting thing out (though I am well aware that in 11 months, when the next deer season begins, I may well have forgotten all the neat things I struggled to learn this year).

Unless, that is, I keep learning all year long. That’s the goal. So far, it’s working … though my hunting lessons are coming from some odd sources.

Like Pudge, for instance.

For the record, “Pudge” is not my alter-ego, nor a name I call myself during those months when I begin to pack on a nice layer of winter lard.

Pudge is my dog. He is a young … but (apparently) smart springer spaniel. And the other day, he showed me that deer hunting isn’t nearly as hard as I try to make it appear.

(Before I go any further, let me assure you that no deer were actually injured in the creation of this column, and that Pudge has never bitten nor attacked anything larger than a rope toy).

Most of the time, Pudge is nothing like any other dog alive (at least, that’s what his proud owners tell each other). Most of the time, he’s one of us. He listens to us. He communicates with us. He is, essentially, our first son.

But sometimes – two or three times a day, right after meals – Pudge demands to be treated as a dog, and do the things that dogs do … if you know what I mean.

For months, I have put Pudge on a leash during these trips afield. Mostly, that’s because I’m a first-time parent, and I’m worried about the little guy.

But more and more often (thanks in large part to my fiancee’s assurances that Pudge will be fine even if he’s not tethered to me all the time), I simply open the door, let him gallop out into the yard (and then discretely follow … just in case).

The other day, Pudge galloped. And galloped. And galloped.

About the time he got to the customarily self-imposed end of his “I’m free! … I’m free!” trot, I realized something.

Pudge was not looking for a new piece of real estate to water. He was looking at a deer. A big deer, which had come to my house just days after the end of hunting season, for one simple reason: He wanted to taunt me one last time.

Pudge’s knowledge of deer is limited to one fact: Some of his doggie treats are venison-flavored.

And as close as I can ascertain, Pudge figured out the hairy interloper smelled a lot like a big doggie treat, and could amount to a full winter’s worth of pure chewing satisfaction.

After several harsh commands, Pudge broke off his brief chase and skulked back to me.

Though we dog-owners often find ways to ascribe a deeper meaning to otherwise innocent glances from our pooches, this time, I’m certain Pudge was sending me a message.

“This deer-hunting thing seems pretty simple to me,” his look told me.

Perhaps he’s right. And I’m sure that next November, every time I reach for my rifle he’ll try to convince me that he ought to go along … just to show me how it’s done.

I just don’t know how to tell Pudge that the state has no plans to legalize the hunting of deer with hounds … or springer spaniels.

One of the unexpected joys that has come with new home ownership is a reconnection with nature I missed while living in a more urban environment.

While calling in-town Bangor “urban” will likely stretch the definition for some, many others will know exactly what I’m talking about.

Now, after a “big” move of eight miles or so, I live in the country.

When we lived “in town,” our wildlife came in three flavors: Big, fat squirrels, which we saw by the dozens; Cats, which we considered “wild” if we didn’t know its name nor its owner; and skunks, which were rarely seen, but made themselves apparent in other ways.

Now, things are different: We have real wildlife right in our own backyard.

The day after we moved in, for instance, nine deer spent time meandering around on the lawn in the middle of the day (Of course, they disappeared as soon as hunting season began).

Since the recent snowstorm, a variety of fresh tracks have shown up on the lawn each morning, and we have found that it’s fun to try to figure out exactly what kinds of critters have been visiting.

As for Pudge? Well, he tells me he finds the tracks quite intriguing as well.

And though I’m sure he knows exactly which tracks belong to which nocturnal visitor, he’s keeping that information to himself for now.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.