If you did get a deer-and I mean any deer-congratulations. You can sit back and tell the story over and over, until it takes on a life of its own. With each retelling, that deer will get bigger, the shot distance will increase, and the temperature outside will drop a bit more. By about May, you will have killed an animal the size of a moose during a blizzard by blowing a soda-straw wrapper at it from 400 yards. And you will half believe the lies coming out of your own mouth. This is hunting's oldest tradition. In fact, linguists now conjecture that language first arose among hominids to fulfill that most fundamental of impulses: the need to lie. "Korg, this is no bull. I was so close when that mastodon farted that it blew all the hair on my forehead straight back."