What a beautiful morning – I think I’ll go kill something
By Harvey H. (“Hardy”) Jackson Driving through the heart of Alabama recently I saw more than a few big pickups with dog crates in the beds. Hunting season. I don’t hunt. At least not any more. I used to hunt, but I never worked to become good at it. I’m sorta like the old preacher who was such a poor shot that he quit hunting. For him it was a…