Hang'n 'er up

Along the back trails of my memories this time of the year was all the hunts and the desire to gather winter's meat. Didn't seem to matter the weather in them there days, hunched up near some cover wait' n to surprise ol' mossyhorns.

It all started when I was twelve. Traded an otter hide for an ancient single barrel 12 gauge Stevens. The only way you could open the barrel was drive the pin out, so I left it loaded unless I shot a grouse. Mom was scared to death I'd shoot myself. Told brother James to find it and get rid of it. But I had it hid out n' the woods. Anyway gettin' back to my story....