Yesterday, while floating around in the hot tub outside my back door at 7:30 in the morning, I heard four high-powered rifle shots from the gully just below my house. I suppose that in some places the sound of four shots would rate as pretty alarming. Not here. Not during hunting season. This is the kind of country where the box of a passing pickup might as likely have pairs of legs sticking up as the back of a sofa. This is where your local newspaper might feature a picture of your cousin or neighbor posed with a set of antlers. We eat liver here, and the nuts off bull Herefords. I don't wear a damned thing when I go outside to hot tub--not even when it snows. Sometimes shots are fired.
--Mitchell Hegman
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