Bridger, you gotta come quick. Chad killed a deer and he’s skinning it right now.”

The neighbor girl’s panicked guise only thinly camouflaged her sly grin, but it was enough to alarm my 7-year-old idealist son. He dropped his flip-flops and bolted barefoot toward our neighbors’ half-opened garage.

“Oh boy,” quipped my wife. “Here we go.”

We had just arrived home after some Saturday shopping. The CD that had been playing in our minivan stereo as we pulled into the driveway was — I kid you not — the soundtrack to Disney’s “Bambi II.” When I arrived at Chad’s garage door, his son Kaden stood outside.

“I tried to talk Bridger out of going in there because I know what he thinks about this,” Kaden reported, “but he went in anyway.”

I’ve only ever killed one deer — a large doe who jumped out in front of my car one night along the Mirror Lake Highway. It may seem odd, given the many hunters among my friends and family, that I’ve never participated in the sport before. To be clear, I have nothing against hunting. I enjoy flipping through the hunting pages of the Cabela’s catalog as much as the next guy — though I do tend to skip the men’s camo underwear section. I’m a satisfied subscriber to Field & Stream, and as my hunter friends can attest, I’m first in line to taste-test their home-dried deer jerky.

It’s just that I’ve always leaned more toward the REI end of the REI-Cabela’s outdoor recreation spectrum. But in the interest of an open mind and general well-roundedness, I’ve lately tried to learn more about the hunting aspect of outdoor adventure. Before last Saturday, I was indifferent to the sport. Bridger was adamantly opposed to it.

“How would we like it if animals got guns and decided to hunt us?” he’s reasoned since he was old enough to talk.

Naturally, his little friend knew she could get a rise out of him by alerting him to Chad’s kill. Curious as to his reaction, I ducked into the garage myself. The deer, a medium-sized two-point buck that Chad had shot with a bow, hung by a rope from two hooks mounted in the ceiling. Chad sat on a small stool beneath it, using a hunting knife to carefully remove the skin.

And Bridger? The boy who refuses to eat meat (except for chicken nuggets)? The boy who cheers for the velociraptors when he watches Jurassic Park? The boy who gets mad when I stomp spiders? He stood unfazed next to Chad’s stool, completely taken by the moment.

“I don’t really like that he killed it, but this is kinda cool, Dad.”

I got a definite sense that his interest stemmed not from a morbid curiosity but rather from a stirring reality check — one he somehow seemed ready for. One that didn’t overwhelm him. He continued observing long into the process, frequently querying Chad on points of anatomy and procedure, and trying to wrap his mind around the rationale for taking an animal’s life.

“The first time I shot a deer, it was kind of tough,” Chad recalled. “It’s easy with fish because their eyes are so blank. A deer has big, pretty eyes and even eye lashes. It’s kind of hard to see that your first time.”

But ancient instincts die hard. The intrinsic motivations to survive and provide sustenance tend to override emotional reservation.

“If for some reason we ever have to resort back to primitive ways, it’s comforting to know that I have this skill,” Chad told me.

Outdoors and hunting writer Kevin Paulson considers a first hunting experience a rite of passage.

“It begins a love affair,” he mused via e-mail. “It teaches you the gravity of death and reverence for the animals that you pursue.”

Bridger hadn’t been there when Chad shot or field dressed the deer, but his first up-close and personal encounter with the sport was clearly a moving one. He was eager to share with me the wealth of knowledge he had gleaned from Chad before I arrived.

“See that spot there, Dad? That’s where the arrow went through, and here’s where it came out.”

Chad said he would probably use most of the meat to make jerky, and he asked Bridger if he’d like to try some when it’s finished. His young observer wasn’t so sure, but didn’t outright reject the offer.

Hunting advocate and friend Ben Haslam believes that hunting connects us to our food. He saw Bridger’s fascination with Chad’s deer preparation as a good thing.

“Most kids grow up not really understanding that meat is something that another creature had to give its life to give us,” he told me. “Actually taking the life of an animal you’re going to eat makes you respect it more. If you waste meat, then the animal that gave you that meat essentially died in vain.”

The concept of hunter as conservationist isn’t as paradoxical as critics of the sport might think. Modern media portrayals of the hunter as ruthless and bloodthirsty error greatly. In fact, hunters like Ben and Chad are some of the most nature-respecting and conservation-minded people I know.

“Now I’m not an expert at this,” Chad warned as he finished skinning the deer and prepared to butcher it. “The first time I did this after Lisa and I were married, it was over our kitchen table. I’ve learned a thing or two since then.”

Chad asked Bridger if they were still friends even though he killed a deer.

“Yep,” Bridger said. “I just wish there was a way of getting meat without actually killing the animal. Like if you could just cut a little bit of meat off of it without hurting it. That would be great.

The boy’s first encounter with hunting was thought provoking at least. It may not have sparked the love affair that Paulson described, but at least he —and I — now see the sport in a different light.

Clint Thomsen is a Stansbury Park resident who grew up climbing mountains, wandering desert paths and exploring Utah’s wilds. He may be contacted via his Web site at www.bonnevillemariner.com.