That Old Man is Going to Kill Us

I went deer hunting by myself that cold dreary November morning many many years ago. My darling Mama once told me that everyone is good at something (at least I think that she mentioned that to me) but when it comes to hunting deer I am mostly mediocre at best and in results.

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I went deer hunting by myself that cold dreary November morning many many years ago. My darling Mama once told me that everyone is good at something (at least I think that she mentioned that to me) but when it comes to hunting deer I am mostly mediocre at best and in results. (Over 45 years since I started as a yonker … and still counting – thank God…) Both of my sons have killed bigger bucks than I and one kid doesn’t even hunt! But back in the early ‘70’s that sorry topic hadn’t even been imagined. I just knew that it was time to go hunting. I drove down the highway east towards Grassy Lake – my old stomping grounds. Just before I got to Purple Springs I turned off Highway 3 and headed north into the sand hills. I suspected that this rough prairie country would yield me a buck and I would know great glory.