Deer Hunting in Paris. Paula Young Lee

He’d been a mewling larva, blind eyes tightly shut, and he grew into an enormous black-and-white tomcat that showered with her and left whisker stubble in the sink. At night, Buster (“Holstein”) the Cat slept next to her on his back, his head on a pillow, tucked in with his paws over the covers and held straight by his sides. They both snored loudly. Sleeping was their favorite activity. At daybreak, he’d shiver himself awake, lick back his hair, give a good stretch, and head out to work. By the end of the day, he’d drag home a mangled bird and meow loudly, demanding to be admired.

      Messy though it may be, it melts your heart when they do this. Cats bring you presents when they love you, “love” being in cat-brain the desire to ensure the continuation of the human most willing to provide Pounce® treats. A bleeding hunk of protein was the most sincere form of affection that Buster could give her. “You have to respect that,” my sister sighed, stroking his contented, blood-spattered face. “It’s disgusting, but he doesn’t think that.” She looked at the half-eaten pigeon on the floor. Pretty soon, Buster would start to vomit. She sighed again. “It’s the thought that counts.”

      Standing at the threshold in his muddy rubber boots, John held his heart in his hands and offered it to me. His whole body glowed with pride. So I thanked him with a kiss, took the gift, and made him strip down and hose off on the porch so he wouldn’t track mud through the house.

      He was pretty happy about the naked part. I was pretty happy with the meat.

      But a deer heart isn’t a present so much as it’s a loud chest-thumping demand, a request to know where, in this relationship, did he stand? He’d given me a gift that money cannot buy. A precious thing beyond price, and a deeply romantic gesture. For when I went away, leaving him alone for months at a time, he wasn’t out chasing other women, even though he was free to do so if he wished. I’d said that he could. And it was true. I just wasn’t sure what I would do if he did. He didn’t sit around waiting for me to return. Instead, he started going to Maine every weekend, tracking whitetail deer in the forgetful forests behind the house where his parents live. John’s heart was proof of those sustained years of effort without promise of the prize. Uncertainty didn’t stop him, though sometimes he felt discouraged, sitting solitary in the cold sunlight, listening to the muttering pines.

      Is the heart seized by a coronary the same organ pierced by Cupid’s arrow? To horny males, all prey looks the same. To the hunter, nothing could be further from the truth. A hunter’s quarry is singular, different from all the others because it knows how to get the better of him. The origins of the word “quarry” can be found in the Latin, “cor,” which means heart. Wherefore cordial, that which warms the cockles of the heart. To succeed in his task, the hunter must combine good luck with careful timing and unwavering commitment, forging a unity of mind, soul, and body yearning to catch the heart that flees not out of fear but because it will not wait for you.

      John could not heave his heart into his mouth, so he took the matter into his hands. He hoped I’d understand. And I did.

      He loves me like fresh meat loves salt. So I cried.

      Here is my recipe for deer heart (serves four-six):

      1 fresh deer heart, soaked overnight in clean, very cold water, changed frequently

      1 cup port

      ½ lb bacon, minced

      1 yellow onion, minced

      2–3 medium carrots, minced

      2 garlic cloves, crushed

      1 bay leaf

      1 cup red wine

      Salt and pepper, to taste

      Wash and clean the heart, removing all membranes, arteries and veins. Pat dry, and slice as thinly as possible. Place slices in a medium bowl, cover with port, add salt and pepper, and marinate overnight in the refrigerator. Using a large sauté pan, cook bacon at medium heat until fat renders but the bits are not crisp. Add onion, carrots, and garlic to the fat, cooking over medium heat until onion is translucent but not browned. Turn heat to high. Lift heart slices out of port marinade, and sauté quickly until just browned. Add bay leaf, port marinade, and enough red wine to cover. Bring to a boil, then lower heat to simmer. Allow liquids to reduce. Do not overcook. Remove pan from heat and allow to rest. Remove bay leaf; add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with creamy polenta, roasted red peppers, and asparagus.