For all the things that haven’t been the same this year, there is one constant in my kids’ lives: hunting season. This year, it’s even been more exciting than usual, because for the first time ever, they’re hunting with a dog. A dog that they’ve had to train and work with, and who doesn’t always respond perfectly every time. While most years find me excited that I will get some quality quiet time as they run off to the woods for days on end, this year, I’m excited for them as well.

I have to preface this all by saying I am not a hunter in any way, shape or form. There will never come a time when you will see me suiting up from head to toe in camouflage, or dutifully tracking the wind direction, or even rolling out of bed before the crack of dawn for something that isn’t a swim meet.

People are sometimes surprised to find out that I support my hunters as much as I do, given that I’ve been a big-time animal lover my entire life. The first time Bambi ran in front of me and cracked the front bumper on the first car I ever bought and paid for myself, I started to change my stance on hunting. The next time, when Bambi jumped off a snow bank and landed square on top of the hood of my Jeep, causing over $5,000 worth of damage, was probably the closest I’ve ever come to picking up a gun and heading out there myself.

Over the years, I’ve come to see the need for population control, and being married to a person who consumes or donates all the meat he harvests, and who is conservative when it comes to the number of tags he will fill every year, I appreciate the need for hunters in our midst. I’ve also come to appreciate that being a true hunter doesn’t mean just buying the fanciest top-of-the-line gear and setting up camp in the middle of the woods, waiting for Bambi’s dad to show up.

The number of hours that the WH, and in turn, the kids have spent in the woods, looking for signs, paying attention to their surroundings, planning hunts, is astounding. It gets them out of the house, interacting with nature, and learning that even when you do everything right, sometimes things just don’t work out the way you’d hoped. Best of all, this one is completely on the WH, and all I have to do is make sure that there is stuff in the house to pack for lunches.

The kids aren’t the only ones learning from this experience. It’s been interesting to have to learn how to share as a parent. Just because I’m not completely enthralled with an activity, I have to make sure that my feelings don’t automatically become their feelings. I’ve also learned to open text messages with care on hunting days because the eager photographers don’t always take care to make sure that their pictures are all neat and tidy, and I sometimes get a massacre surprise.

This year, A decided that some of his other pursuits were a priority, and he had to have a conversation with the WH about how he just really wasn’t that into hunting this year. It’s been an important lesson for us to learn about not forcing him to do something he’s really just not that into, and at the same time, making sure he has the skill set, should he ever decide he wants to get back into it.

While he does enjoy turkey hunting in the spring, he just has too many other things going on this freshman fall to be able to hunt, and that has to be OK with us.

On the other hand, I’m going to have a hard time dragging G back into school and organized activities after this. On his lunch break, he starts to get his things ready, and the minute he’s dismissed at the end of the day, he’s out the door and up to his tree stand.

He was grateful when outdoor band practice ended, because that extra 15-minute drive home was cramping his style. While he’s always happier to come home with something, he’s learning that every day isn’t always a good day. If there is one thing that truly amazes me about my hunters, it’s their never-ending supply of optimism.

Sure that G would get frustrated after a few days of seeing nothing, I was surprised when he bounced out of bed bright and early on a Saturday morning to head out to the woods again. “Today’s the day,” he whispered, “I just know it.” “The last five days weren’t, but sure, today is probably the day,” I muttered, as I pulled the covers back over my head.

A few hours later, I got the warning text that G had made a shot. I knew that there was a distinct possibility of dead deer photos in my future, so I opened the rest of the messages with care. Sure enough, there was a grinning G, proudly holding his buck. That wasn’t the end of it. In our house, if you kill it, you clean it. Surprisingly, there is no argument on this.

My child who will do everything to weasel out of every household chore he can does such a meticulous and thorough job when it comes to cleaning his game that the WH has threatened to take over if he doesn’t move it along. That night as I watched him trimming out the pheasants he and Duncan brought home later in the day, I realized that he will be an excellent anatomy lab partner someday. Of course, my kitchen sink looked like something out of a horror movie until he was through, and I’m still fishing feathers out of the drain. You win some, you lose some.

Hunting is frequently misunderstood, especially these days. I never imagined that it would be something that consumed such a large part of my life, and I still can’t say that I understand it. But, as I’m frequently reminded, as long as they’re out in the woods, I don’t have to wonder where they are. They can’t go wrong with spending time in nature and learning about the world around them, even if it is sometimes from the inside out.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.