I can still remember the change in tension as the animals flesh was cut open, the relaxing of the body as internal organs made their first external appearance.
I held on as tightly as I could to the front legs of the deer my husband was field dressing, with my head craned in the opposite direction.
That wasn't the only time I've had to hose down our driveway in order to keep blood from drying on the cement.
"Well, this is new," I thought to myself, a sentiment I've repeated on numerous occasions since I met him, including the times I've eaten squirrel and snake, taking pictures of him with animal carcasses, shooting a compound bow, preparing a venison roast -- I could go on.
But these are the things I thought about earlier this week when the syndicated talk radio program I was listening to started discussing a recent article in the New York Post. The piece was about how women who live in New York City have been venturing into the suburbs to find men who want a committed relationship.
While the article focuses on women going to suburbs in Connecticut to find men who are marriage-material, the discussion inevitably turned into whether women preferred "city guys" or "country guys," designations that, while widely used and accepted, are far too general and stereotypical to be relevant.
But I found it interesting nonetheless.
On the same morning show's Facebook page, a poll was posted asking, "Ladies, what kind of man do you prefer?" with possible answers of "City guys," "Country guys" and "It doesn't matter as long as they are smokin' hot." Last I checked, country guys were winning by a considerable margin.
Now, if it needs to be said, my husband is a "country guy," raised in a small rural town by a father who hunts, fishes and is an all-around handyman -- my husband inherited all of those traits.
He's quite possibly the only certifiable "country guy" I ever dated and I have to admit that it's pretty awesome to not have to call a plumber when the toilet is broken or pay a mechanic to change the oil in my car or to worry about buying meat when the deep freezer is full of freshly-harvested venison.
But I think what was missing from the afore mentioned discussion is balance.
Because while my husband may feel at home in the woods, he also enjoys art and literature.
And that's where I thrive.
As often I go over to his side of things -- like that whole snake- and squirrel-eating bit -- he's just as open to my excursions to Atlanta or Barnes and Noble.
We have a nice balancing act -- I make sure he remains civilized and he makes sure I don't get too prissy -- blood, guts and all.
Katie McCarthy, email@example.com or 706-571-8515. Visit ledger-enquirer.com/junkfood for more commentary.