“Maybe hunting season should change every year, like Ramadan?’
I keep offering to my “hunting” buddies to come on over and sit on my porch. They can use the bathroom, the refrigerator, the spare bed. Just cut me in for some sausages! What a bunch of wimps. I don’t have a deer rifle and no desire to look my meat in the eye. (I prefer seeing it in its natural habitat, a Styrofoam package.) My neighbor’s husband used to sit on his back porch in his wheelchair with a few beers. He kept their freezer so stocked that his wife was still using meat he’d shot a year after he died.
“My neighbor’s husband used to sit on his back porch in his wheelchair with a few beers.”
I saw some gag greeting card yesterday. Old guy in a hospital bed with the drip IV and a nurse. Out in the woods with his rifle in his lap. “Well - I reckon this might be my last hunting trip.”