Abstract:
Hunting is friends, people, places, weather, game, dogs, guns and many, many, many stories, most are only slightly true.
What the heart remembers from each hunt are the faces of companions and dogs and icy clear mornings at sunrise and weary legs and collapsing onto sturdy chairs for hot heavy filling meals and laughter, always laughter, and I. C.
I.C., both hips replaced, charging through tangled switch grass and brush, in love with his dogs and the hunt, a remnant of something nearly gone, but which should not be forgotten.