At Least He Didn’t Die With Antlers on His Head!
by Tommy LeVrier
Donald Lee smiled smugly to himself as he shifted gears in his homemade dune ‘huntin’ buggy. A canteen in a camouflaged cover dangled from the rear view mirror as he headed slowly down the main street of South Peeveetoe, Texas. He had skipped school that morning in order to catch the first day of deer huntin’ season.
And Donald Lee had something to talk about.
His deer stand time had been radically cut short “when he seen something he couldn’t believe,” on the hunting lease toward Karankawa Point that morning. He had to brag it to somebody. So much that he was willing to chance being seen by the school principal in order to tell it.
He’d risk a paddling for this story. Besides, they had beaten him before. Many times. It didn’t do no good. No how and no ways. Donald Lee wasn’t going to miss out on nuthin’ because of them.
It didn’t do no good to beat me no way. My own man learned me that. He certainly beat me enough to know better.”
Donald Lee casually turned the steering wheel with one hand to avoid two sleeping dogs on Main Street. Suddenly, he slammed on his brakes. Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
He grinded it into reverse and backed up as fast as he could, it was okay. Nobody was coming. The deer hunting story would have to wait for now, at least for the time being.
A big, fat, brown Water Moccasin, big around as your wrist, was slowly crawling out of a sewage ditch off to the right.
“This is too good to be true!” he shouted out loud. “A Cottonmouth sunning in the middle of fall! That’s nearly impossible this time of year!”
Donald Lee aimed with one eye half shut and slowly backed over the snake until he could hear the sweet sound of the snake’s guts bursting out. Like everyone else around South Peeveetoe, he hated snakes with a blind passion. It was because there was every kind of poisonous serpent imaginable in and amongst South Peeveetoe proper. There was the Coral snake, the Copper Head, and even the Diamondback. But it was the Moccasin that Donald Lee himself hated. He would go out of his way to kill them as they were the most aggressive of all snakes and would chase you when you weren’t looking.
They not like other snakes. My old man said that if you didn’t kill them completely, they would come after you!”
With a rebel yell, he spun his wheels on top of the snake until the tires smoked. When Donald Lee was sure the snake was flattened, he picked it up with the muzzle of his deer rifle. He removed his canteen and then carefully draped the carcass of the snake over the mirror.
With the limp snake swinging and dripping blood, he headed triumphantly toward the local café. Donald Lee wasn’t even going to speak about the snake to anyone. It would speak for itself.
As he passed the high school, he could hear the shrill, piercing bell that informed all the teachers, coaches, and students to return to school after lunch. He was safe now. Donald Lee was no more interested in getting a formal high school education than his daddy was before him. Book learning was just not their thing. It didn’t help you so much in the oilfields.
Surely, there would be somebody, maybe even some deer hunters, up at Wylie’s Café at this time of day.
Donald Lee’s tires made a crunching sound as he entered the white shell parking lot of the cafe. Chest out, Donald Lee burst through the hollow plywood, front door of Wiley’s Cafe. He found two retired oilfield workers named Mr. Kinshaw and Old Man Wilkins and a scratch welder named Tubby Powell sipping coffee from lime green plastic cups. None of them looked up at him.
Donald Lee took off his bright orange hunting cap as he entered, leaving a tight red band across the center of his forehead. Standing before them, he held the cap across the center of his chest as if he was reciting the Pledge of Allegiance like they do every morning at school before the first class.
“D’ya’ll hear?” Donald Lee asked.
Mr. Kinshaw, formerly of Texaco, looked up first.
“’Bout the Yankee.” Donald Lee said.
“Yankee?” Tubby asked as he tugged at his purple and white polka-dotted welding cap.
“A Yankee was hunting up at the Tyewater lease a while ago,” Donald Lee said. “He had strapped some deer antlers to his head and . . .”
“He did what?” Old Man Wilkins asked to Mr. Kinshaw without looking up at Donald Lee.
Old Man Wilkins was dressed completely in khakis from head-to-toe. He dressed just as he was every day when he worked 30- naught years at the Mobil refinery. His thick glasses fell down his nose every time he spoke. He had big yellow dentures that made him look like he was always smiling. This, his shuffling gait, and the fact that he never wore his hearing aid, made him look perpetually confused.
“Strapped some antlers to his head,” Donald Lee said.
Old Man Wilkins made a face and looked down at Donald Lee’s muddy rubber boots.
“Why did he strap antlers to his head?” Tubby asked with a slight grin.
“To attract deers,” Donald Lee said with a serious face.
Tubby turned his head slightly to the side like a curious dog.
“To attract deers?” Tubby asked.
Brushing some pine straw from his trouser leg, Donald Lee paused and began the story.
“The Yankee rose up from behind a bush with these antlers on his head to try and get some deers to come to him and then . . .”
He had finally gotten their attention. Even Sherlane, the part owner of the eating establishment, stopped and looked up from behind her busy work.
“Turk Arceneaux caught him right between’gst the eyes with a double-aught-16-gauge deer shot, point blank,” Donald Lee said while hitching up his pants.
“Where’s he now?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“He’s over to the Ralston funeral house,” Donald Lee replied in utter seriousness. “They didn’t even bother to call the meat wagon.”
“Where Turk?” Tubby asked.
“He blamed his self,” Donald Lee said.
“It’s a shame about Turk,” the scratch welder said while shaking his head solemnly.
“He was sure shook up,” Donald Lee said. “Said he was going to give up all huntin’ of any kind altogether. Although he planned to keep both his hunting dogs including Sputnik.”
“That’s not right,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Well, he can give me Sputnik if he wants to get rid of one,” Sherlane said shyly.
“How many stray ole hound dog mutts you got Sherlane?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“Going on 14 as I recall it,” she said. “That is, before I lost count.”
“I’m not sure if you need Sputnik,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“I guess I’m not going to miss just one,” she said.
“Now let me get this straight,” Tubby said with considerable incredulity. “He was wearing a what?”
“Antlers,” Donald Lee said quickly.
Old man Wilkins finally perked up and spoke to Donald Lee.
“How did he attach them?”
“Cotton rope I believe it was,” Donald Lee said. “Like you get up to Royal Hardware. On those big spools they got. White, like it was brand new. But now it was sortie red. Brown really. But you could see some bright white on it. That’s how come I knowed it was new.”
“Did he still have on the antlers at the funeral home?” Mr. Kinshaw asked as he put out a Salem Menthol in a plastic ash tray.
Mr. Kinshaw picked up the ashtray and began to read the high school football schedule written on the side of it. The old man in khakis studies his actions carefully.
“They going to have a good year?” Mr. Kinshaw said to Old Man Wilkins.
“Who?” Old Man Wilkins asked.
“The high school football team,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Nah,” Old Man Wilkins said in a grumpy tone.
“Want one?” Mr. Kinshaw said to Tubby while offering him a filter tip cigarette.
Tubby shook his head no and looked out the window.
“I prefer to chew,” Tubby said.
To this, Tubby pulled out his lip to reveal a big wad of Copenhagen mint snuff stuck between his cheek and gums.
“Didn’t your daddy die of cancer at the V.A. Hospital?” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Yes sir,” Donald Lee said. “Smoked Pall Mall filter less and sometimes Camels, also without filters. That’s why I don’t smoke. He told me never to smoke. It was the one thing he requested that I do for him before he died. That I not smoke cigarettes with or without filters.”
Sherlane enters as if she can’t wait to ask Donald Lee a question.
“Tell me,” Sherlene asks while looking at the other men in the café,” “Were those antlers still attached to his skull when they got him to the doctor and his helpers?”
“I believe that they took the antlers off before they took him on to the ambulance,” Donald Lee said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Old Man Wilkins asked abruptly.
Donald Lee took off his cap and looked at the floor. He had unconsciously put it back on in all the excitement. Donald Lee had no intention of graduating. To him a GED was just as good. Besides, he didn’t plan on anything but oilfield or scrap metal work anyway. Why did he need a high school diploma for that? His daddy certainly didn’t and he managed to make a living dealing in salvage materials.
"Didn’t you have some trouble like this once’st Donald Lee?” Tubby asked with a smirk.
“Didn’t your daddy once'st got shot at too?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“It was Skippy, your half-brother that shot him, wasn’t it?” Tubby asked.
“Shot at him no way but didn’t hit him,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
Old Man Wilkins looked up a Donald Lee, studying his coveralls.
“Why did they call him Skippy?” Old Man Wilkins asked.
“Cut off two of his toes from mowin’ the yard barefoot,” Donald Lee said.
“They had done argued that day,” Tubby said as he gently put down his coffee in the saucer. “Skippy called him a no-good-Donald-Lee-Senior lookin’ outfit and went after him with a shotgun.”
“No sir,” Donald Lee said quickly. “It wouldn’t no shotgun. It was the pistol we used to kill hogs with. It was hog slaughtering day. Yes sir, it sure was. Had some hogs pent up so to be skint' for slaughtering on that day.”
“They had to call Sheriff Servants in order to stop him,” Tubby said to Mr. Kinshaw as he ignored Donald Lee altogether.
“They say God protects them,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Crook,” Tubby said.
“Who,” Old Man Wilkins said.
“His granddaddy wasn’t,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“He died driving home from the beer joint,” Tubby said. “Used to take his little Chihuahua with him to the beer joint. He’d stand on the bar and drink out of his beer glass. Ran off the road into the creek. ”
“They never did find Sparky,” Mr. Kinshaw said. “Say, Donald Lee. What ever became of Sparky? They ever find him?”
Donald Lee leaned forward with his face dropping. He had finally caught on. The dining room went quiet. Sherlane approached the table, smiling like a prissy little girl.
“Could I get ya’ll something?” she asked. “Or are ya’ll too busy swappin’ tall ones?”
She curtsied as she said it. The men giggled in a bashful way.
“We got lemon and chocolate and I think they may be one piece of the blackberry left,” she said. “They is, if ya’ll ain’t already et it all.”
“No Ma’am, I got to be gettin’ on,” Donald Lee said. “They don’t want to talk to me no ways.”
That didn’t draw a response from the old-timers or the scratch welder so Donald Lee put on his cap and backed toward the front door. He reached behind him and slowly turned the doorknob while looking at them all the while.
“I know what ya’ll saying!” Donald Lee yelled. “Ya’ll saying God protects fools! Ya’ll regard him as nothing more than a wino and a near do well! And ya’ll just waiting for me to follow in his and grandaddy’s footsteps! Well, maybe I don’t consider that so half as bad as all that for that matter! My daddy’s is problem was that he looked out more for other people than he did hisself. I wish I was half the man he was. Besides, ya’ll just mad because he was taller than ya’ll!”
He closed the door behind him. Quickly he pushed open the door again and stuck his head back in.
“Hey, you can laugh amongst yourselves if you want!” Donald Lee said. “I know ya’ll might not think my daddy was all too much! But at least he didn’t die with no antlers on his head!”
Donald Lee slammed the door so loudly behind him it caused a picture of Elvis to fall off the café wall and hit the floor. He then leaped into his dune buggy. Donald Lee cranked it several times until it sprang to life in an ear-splitting roar. He revved the engine until the whole vehicle shook and rattled. Donald Lee then spun out in a complete 360-degree turn, throwing gravel in a rain of bullets all over the front window where the old timers sat.
When the dust finally settled, there was Donald Lee, his face chalk white from the dust. Looking like a devil, he grinned and held up the snake with his rifle and slung it with all his might. It slammed up against the windowpane and stuck there for what seemed like forever to those inside.
The black snake stared at them like a drunken, defeated sailor before it slid down the windowpane in a long descent, dragging a large trail of blood behind it.
A tray full of dirty dishes trembled in Sherlane’s hands.
“I never seen nuthin’ like this,” she said in a shaky voice.
“That’s for ya’ll’s breakfast!” Donald Lee yelled, “It’s a present from my daddy! I hope ya’ll enjoys it!”
He then peeled out, sending more gravel up against the glass as he sped out on to the main road. Shoulders back, arms straight, he switched on his transistor radio to the country station full blast and headed back towards the woods from where he had started just earlier.
Fun on them. I’m not going to let them ruin nuthin’ for me or nobody else. I don’t need no one to enjoy nature with, no ways. I can enjoys it by myself.
And besides, this was the first day of deer hunting season.
And, by golly, Donald Lee was there.
//ww
Donald Lee smiled smugly to himself as he shifted gears in his homemade dune ‘huntin’ buggy. A canteen in a camouflaged cover dangled from the rear view mirror as he headed slowly down the main street of South Peeveetoe, Texas. He had skipped school that morning in order to catch the first day of deer huntin’ season.
And Donald Lee had something to talk about.
His deer stand time had been radically cut short “when he seen something he couldn’t believe,” on the hunting lease toward Karankawa Point that morning. He had to brag it to somebody. So much that he was willing to chance being seen by the school principal in order to tell it.
He’d risk a paddling for this story. Besides, they had beaten him before. Many times. It didn’t do no good. No how and no ways. Donald Lee wasn’t going to miss out on nuthin’ because of them.
It didn’t do no good to beat me no way. My own man learned me that. He certainly beat me enough to know better.”
Donald Lee casually turned the steering wheel with one hand to avoid two sleeping dogs on Main Street. Suddenly, he slammed on his brakes. Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
He grinded it into reverse and backed up as fast as he could, it was okay. Nobody was coming. The deer hunting story would have to wait for now, at least for the time being.
A big, fat, brown Water Moccasin, big around as your wrist, was slowly crawling out of a sewage ditch off to the right.
“This is too good to be true!” he shouted out loud. “A Cottonmouth sunning in the middle of fall! That’s nearly impossible this time of year!”
Donald Lee aimed with one eye half shut and slowly backed over the snake until he could hear the sweet sound of the snake’s guts bursting out. Like everyone else around South Peeveetoe, he hated snakes with a blind passion. It was because there was every kind of poisonous serpent imaginable in and amongst South Peeveetoe proper. There was the Coral snake, the Copper Head, and even the Diamondback. But it was the Moccasin that Donald Lee himself hated. He would go out of his way to kill them as they were the most aggressive of all snakes and would chase you when you weren’t looking.
They not like other snakes. My old man said that if you didn’t kill them completely, they would come after you!”
With a rebel yell, he spun his wheels on top of the snake until the tires smoked. When Donald Lee was sure the snake was flattened, he picked it up with the muzzle of his deer rifle. He removed his canteen and then carefully draped the carcass of the snake over the mirror.
With the limp snake swinging and dripping blood, he headed triumphantly toward the local café. Donald Lee wasn’t even going to speak about the snake to anyone. It would speak for itself.
As he passed the high school, he could hear the shrill, piercing bell that informed all the teachers, coaches, and students to return to school after lunch. He was safe now. Donald Lee was no more interested in getting a formal high school education than his daddy was before him. Book learning was just not their thing. It didn’t help you so much in the oilfields.
Surely, there would be somebody, maybe even some deer hunters, up at Wylie’s Café at this time of day.
Donald Lee’s tires made a crunching sound as he entered the white shell parking lot of the cafe. Chest out, Donald Lee burst through the hollow plywood, front door of Wiley’s Cafe. He found two retired oilfield workers named Mr. Kinshaw and Old Man Wilkins and a scratch welder named Tubby Powell sipping coffee from lime green plastic cups. None of them looked up at him.
Donald Lee took off his bright orange hunting cap as he entered, leaving a tight red band across the center of his forehead. Standing before them, he held the cap across the center of his chest as if he was reciting the Pledge of Allegiance like they do every morning at school before the first class.
“D’ya’ll hear?” Donald Lee asked.
Mr. Kinshaw, formerly of Texaco, looked up first.
“’Bout the Yankee.” Donald Lee said.
“Yankee?” Tubby asked as he tugged at his purple and white polka-dotted welding cap.
“A Yankee was hunting up at the Tyewater lease a while ago,” Donald Lee said. “He had strapped some deer antlers to his head and . . .”
“He did what?” Old Man Wilkins asked to Mr. Kinshaw without looking up at Donald Lee.
Old Man Wilkins was dressed completely in khakis from head-to-toe. He dressed just as he was every day when he worked 30- naught years at the Mobil refinery. His thick glasses fell down his nose every time he spoke. He had big yellow dentures that made him look like he was always smiling. This, his shuffling gait, and the fact that he never wore his hearing aid, made him look perpetually confused.
“Strapped some antlers to his head,” Donald Lee said.
Old Man Wilkins made a face and looked down at Donald Lee’s muddy rubber boots.
“Why did he strap antlers to his head?” Tubby asked with a slight grin.
“To attract deers,” Donald Lee said with a serious face.
Tubby turned his head slightly to the side like a curious dog.
“To attract deers?” Tubby asked.
Brushing some pine straw from his trouser leg, Donald Lee paused and began the story.
“The Yankee rose up from behind a bush with these antlers on his head to try and get some deers to come to him and then . . .”
He had finally gotten their attention. Even Sherlane, the part owner of the eating establishment, stopped and looked up from behind her busy work.
“Turk Arceneaux caught him right between’gst the eyes with a double-aught-16-gauge deer shot, point blank,” Donald Lee said while hitching up his pants.
“Where’s he now?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“He’s over to the Ralston funeral house,” Donald Lee replied in utter seriousness. “They didn’t even bother to call the meat wagon.”
“Where Turk?” Tubby asked.
“He blamed his self,” Donald Lee said.
“It’s a shame about Turk,” the scratch welder said while shaking his head solemnly.
“He was sure shook up,” Donald Lee said. “Said he was going to give up all huntin’ of any kind altogether. Although he planned to keep both his hunting dogs including Sputnik.”
“That’s not right,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Well, he can give me Sputnik if he wants to get rid of one,” Sherlane said shyly.
“How many stray ole hound dog mutts you got Sherlane?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“Going on 14 as I recall it,” she said. “That is, before I lost count.”
“I’m not sure if you need Sputnik,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“I guess I’m not going to miss just one,” she said.
“Now let me get this straight,” Tubby said with considerable incredulity. “He was wearing a what?”
“Antlers,” Donald Lee said quickly.
Old man Wilkins finally perked up and spoke to Donald Lee.
“How did he attach them?”
“Cotton rope I believe it was,” Donald Lee said. “Like you get up to Royal Hardware. On those big spools they got. White, like it was brand new. But now it was sortie red. Brown really. But you could see some bright white on it. That’s how come I knowed it was new.”
“Did he still have on the antlers at the funeral home?” Mr. Kinshaw asked as he put out a Salem Menthol in a plastic ash tray.
Mr. Kinshaw picked up the ashtray and began to read the high school football schedule written on the side of it. The old man in khakis studies his actions carefully.
“They going to have a good year?” Mr. Kinshaw said to Old Man Wilkins.
“Who?” Old Man Wilkins asked.
“The high school football team,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Nah,” Old Man Wilkins said in a grumpy tone.
“Want one?” Mr. Kinshaw said to Tubby while offering him a filter tip cigarette.
Tubby shook his head no and looked out the window.
“I prefer to chew,” Tubby said.
To this, Tubby pulled out his lip to reveal a big wad of Copenhagen mint snuff stuck between his cheek and gums.
“Didn’t your daddy die of cancer at the V.A. Hospital?” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Yes sir,” Donald Lee said. “Smoked Pall Mall filter less and sometimes Camels, also without filters. That’s why I don’t smoke. He told me never to smoke. It was the one thing he requested that I do for him before he died. That I not smoke cigarettes with or without filters.”
Sherlane enters as if she can’t wait to ask Donald Lee a question.
“Tell me,” Sherlene asks while looking at the other men in the café,” “Were those antlers still attached to his skull when they got him to the doctor and his helpers?”
“I believe that they took the antlers off before they took him on to the ambulance,” Donald Lee said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Old Man Wilkins asked abruptly.
Donald Lee took off his cap and looked at the floor. He had unconsciously put it back on in all the excitement. Donald Lee had no intention of graduating. To him a GED was just as good. Besides, he didn’t plan on anything but oilfield or scrap metal work anyway. Why did he need a high school diploma for that? His daddy certainly didn’t and he managed to make a living dealing in salvage materials.
"Didn’t you have some trouble like this once’st Donald Lee?” Tubby asked with a smirk.
“Didn’t your daddy once'st got shot at too?” Mr. Kinshaw asked.
“It was Skippy, your half-brother that shot him, wasn’t it?” Tubby asked.
“Shot at him no way but didn’t hit him,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
Old Man Wilkins looked up a Donald Lee, studying his coveralls.
“Why did they call him Skippy?” Old Man Wilkins asked.
“Cut off two of his toes from mowin’ the yard barefoot,” Donald Lee said.
“They had done argued that day,” Tubby said as he gently put down his coffee in the saucer. “Skippy called him a no-good-Donald-Lee-Senior lookin’ outfit and went after him with a shotgun.”
“No sir,” Donald Lee said quickly. “It wouldn’t no shotgun. It was the pistol we used to kill hogs with. It was hog slaughtering day. Yes sir, it sure was. Had some hogs pent up so to be skint' for slaughtering on that day.”
“They had to call Sheriff Servants in order to stop him,” Tubby said to Mr. Kinshaw as he ignored Donald Lee altogether.
“They say God protects them,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“Crook,” Tubby said.
“Who,” Old Man Wilkins said.
“His granddaddy wasn’t,” Mr. Kinshaw said.
“He died driving home from the beer joint,” Tubby said. “Used to take his little Chihuahua with him to the beer joint. He’d stand on the bar and drink out of his beer glass. Ran off the road into the creek. ”
“They never did find Sparky,” Mr. Kinshaw said. “Say, Donald Lee. What ever became of Sparky? They ever find him?”
Donald Lee leaned forward with his face dropping. He had finally caught on. The dining room went quiet. Sherlane approached the table, smiling like a prissy little girl.
“Could I get ya’ll something?” she asked. “Or are ya’ll too busy swappin’ tall ones?”
She curtsied as she said it. The men giggled in a bashful way.
“We got lemon and chocolate and I think they may be one piece of the blackberry left,” she said. “They is, if ya’ll ain’t already et it all.”
“No Ma’am, I got to be gettin’ on,” Donald Lee said. “They don’t want to talk to me no ways.”
That didn’t draw a response from the old-timers or the scratch welder so Donald Lee put on his cap and backed toward the front door. He reached behind him and slowly turned the doorknob while looking at them all the while.
“I know what ya’ll saying!” Donald Lee yelled. “Ya’ll saying God protects fools! Ya’ll regard him as nothing more than a wino and a near do well! And ya’ll just waiting for me to follow in his and grandaddy’s footsteps! Well, maybe I don’t consider that so half as bad as all that for that matter! My daddy’s is problem was that he looked out more for other people than he did hisself. I wish I was half the man he was. Besides, ya’ll just mad because he was taller than ya’ll!”
He closed the door behind him. Quickly he pushed open the door again and stuck his head back in.
“Hey, you can laugh amongst yourselves if you want!” Donald Lee said. “I know ya’ll might not think my daddy was all too much! But at least he didn’t die with no antlers on his head!”
Donald Lee slammed the door so loudly behind him it caused a picture of Elvis to fall off the café wall and hit the floor. He then leaped into his dune buggy. Donald Lee cranked it several times until it sprang to life in an ear-splitting roar. He revved the engine until the whole vehicle shook and rattled. Donald Lee then spun out in a complete 360-degree turn, throwing gravel in a rain of bullets all over the front window where the old timers sat.
When the dust finally settled, there was Donald Lee, his face chalk white from the dust. Looking like a devil, he grinned and held up the snake with his rifle and slung it with all his might. It slammed up against the windowpane and stuck there for what seemed like forever to those inside.
The black snake stared at them like a drunken, defeated sailor before it slid down the windowpane in a long descent, dragging a large trail of blood behind it.
A tray full of dirty dishes trembled in Sherlane’s hands.
“I never seen nuthin’ like this,” she said in a shaky voice.
“That’s for ya’ll’s breakfast!” Donald Lee yelled, “It’s a present from my daddy! I hope ya’ll enjoys it!”
He then peeled out, sending more gravel up against the glass as he sped out on to the main road. Shoulders back, arms straight, he switched on his transistor radio to the country station full blast and headed back towards the woods from where he had started just earlier.
Fun on them. I’m not going to let them ruin nuthin’ for me or nobody else. I don’t need no one to enjoy nature with, no ways. I can enjoys it by myself.
And besides, this was the first day of deer hunting season.
And, by golly, Donald Lee was there.
//ww