Land a good friend allowed me to hunt last year. Everything looks good, I just hope I have a good shot at a deer.
Very beautiful piece of property. And drivingback across the Indiana plains, watching the storm pass north and west of me, I realize flatland is in my soul. I have stood on high granite escarpments and walked mountain passes, and they are beautiful, but i love the plains.
In conversation with a friend the other night I asserted that squirrels hibernate; they do not. Chipmunks do, and that is what I had personal experience with, but not so squirrels; they become dormant and you rarely see them, but it is not true hibernation.
What I have personal experience with is Chipmunks, who do enter hibernation. If you make note of where chippie burrows are in the summer, and in the very early spring tunnel down to them, it is not hard to find one hibernating, curled up into a little comma, heartbeat barely discernable.
And stick it in your sister’s underwear drawer.
Or so I’m told.
of letting my fists speak for me. I also have a history of doing very bad things. And I am very, very good at what I do.
I have to remember as I see the cars with the Obama stickers on them, to keep my cool. I have to remember that I have put all that behind me. I have to force myself not to follow those people home and re educate them. I spend a lot of time praying for the strength to keep being able to stop myself from doing something stupid. I do not have what ordinary people call a conscience so this is an effort of sheer will, for me. Keep a happy thought that you do not see me on the evening news, ever.
