As I pulled into town, I noticed a large group of people huddling around an old pickup truck. Glimpsing antlers as I drove by, I whipped into a parking spot and hurried to the gathering. There in the back of "Bubba's" truck was my trophy buck! Yes, sure enough, right here, right now, deader than a hammer, was my buck.

It seemed that the farmer's nephew had decided to go bowhunting for a morning. Heading down behind the barn, the weekend warrior climbed a tree. Shortly after daylight, a certain big buck came waltzing by, and Bubba killed it--with his third shot! Not wanting to "come-off" wrong to my fellow sportsmen, I quickly ran back to my truck and threw a temper tantrum in the privacy of my camper. Red and Whitey seemed to really enjoy the show.

Getting A Clue
Now, firmly entrenched in mid-life, I'm not nearly as tough as I used to be. The main reason for this is because I listen to Red very little nowadays. Now, for very good reason, every time that Red starts harping on me, a warning light goes off in my head. Boy am I ever glad that the old saying, "with age, comes wisdom" is proving to be true in my life. Maybe I'll make it after all!