On its surface, the story is simple: a nine-year-old girl named Andrea (called “Andy” by her father) goes on a hunting trip in the Pennsylvania woods with her father, family friend Charlie, and Charlie’s son, Mac. It’s deer season. Andy desperately wants to please her father, to be tough, to earn a place in the male world of guns, cold mornings, and blood.
But Kaplan’s genius lies in what simmers beneath. Andy is caught between two selves—the girl her mother wants her to be (soft, indoors, “proper”) and the “one of the boys” her father encourages. She has chosen the name “Andy” and insists on it. Yet the woods, the hunt, and a wounded doe force her to confront something far more complicated than whether she can shoot straight.
What makes “Doe Season” unforgettable is its ending. After the failed mercy kill, after the men finish the job and Andy feels the blood soak through her jacket, she runs. Not toward the cabin, not toward her father—but toward the ocean. In a surreal, dreamlike sequence, she imagines the ocean from her mother’s stories, a place vast and female and forgiving. Doe Season By David Michael Kaplan Full Text
She wades in, washing off the blood. And when Mac calls her “Andrea” without irony, she doesn’t correct him. The story closes with her walking into the waves, away from the woods, away from the name Andy.
It is not a triumphant ending. It is a quiet, painful surrender—or perhaps a survival. On its surface, the story is simple: a
The story’s final image is jarring. After screaming in the woods, Andy hears her mother’s voice: “Andrea. Over here.” The use of her full name (not “Andy”) signifies a return to prescribed femininity. She runs toward her mother, leaving the gun behind.
Critics disagree on how to read this ending. Kaplan deliberately leaves the answer ambiguous
Kaplan deliberately leaves the answer ambiguous. What is clear, however, is that Andy will never be the same. The “doe season”—both the hunting season and the season of her girlhood—has irrevocably ended.