When my daughter was little, she asked why her Grampa’s stories always ended the same way.
“What way is that?” I asked.
She said, “They always end: ‘And then I shot it.’”
Well, not always. But often. Most folks in my family were hunters. Not me, but most everybody else.
So I should have known what was coming when I received this little story from a friend in North Wilmot. She wrote:
One of our neighbors who always gets a deer in hunting season, after hanging it next to his house, then cutting it up for the freezer, leaves the head up in the tree for all those passing by to admire.
Well, this year just before Christmas, he attached a blinking red light to its nose.
By the way, in case you didn’t guess, the creative neighbor is your cousin, Vic.
Not surprised. I didn’t know Vic was such a good shot, but I always knew he had a good sense of humor.
That’s Vic in the pic, the boy among all the girl cousins (left to right -- Lonna, Sheree, me, Sam) and my mom. Christmas at Grammie and Grampa Stewart’s in Danbury circa 1963.