Everything I’m going to tell you is the truth . . . as I know it. Anything I didn’t know or wasn’t sure about, I made up. 😉
I dearly love my brother. If he weren’t my bro, I’d still like the stuffings out of him. He’s just a super guy. I work with him, and on the days I see him (he’s often out of the office) my days are a little bit brighter.
My favorite (and only) brother was born an outdoorsman. He loves to hunt and fish, and not necessarily in that order.
He didn’t learn it from watching Dad. Our pop doesn’t hunt at all, and only fishes on special occasions. But Jeffrey has always loved both.
Even when he was a little kid, Jeffrey loved hunting.
When he was seven or eight (or maybe ten) he cause one of my sisters to start getting gray hair. (At least we like to blame it on him.)
Debbie got home that night before everyone else. It was pitch black outside, and there was only one light on in the entire house. So she went in the front door and, naturally, walked into the room where the light was on–Jeffrey’s room.
There, hanging by one leg from the light fixture in the middle of the room, was a dead squirrel. Blood dripped from its head onto a towel on the floor, filling the air with an awful odor.
All the scary movies I’d forced her to watch over the years probably flashed through her head. Debbie ran screaming (at least I would have been screaming) from the room, over to Grandmother’s house. (Next door.) Continue reading