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I have a friend. His name is Neil.

June 1, 2017

Neil lives several states away and it has been several years since we have seen each other.  Even so, he is a VERY good friend.

Last night I sent out, via email, a letter to all my friends, asking them to contribute to my Parkinson’s fund-raising page: Neil promptly made a significant donation.

So I was sitting here, thinking about my good friend, and the last time I saw him, which was also the last time I shot a buck in West Virginia.  After I shot the buck, he took off running.  Downhill.  To the base of a steep, isolated mountain. He died there.  After he died, I evaluated the situation. I dragged him out of the briar patch he ran to hide in and looked up at the mountain.  It towered a good 300 feet above me.  The  buck weighed about 150 pounds.  I did not really have a choice.  I grabbed an antler and started dragging him up the mountain, slipping and sliding.  Sometimes I’d pull him 5 or 10 feet, and he’d slide back down.

I took the better part of two hours, but I finally got him up there.  It was a brutal climb, but I made it.

When I finally got to the top, Neil came along and complemented me on the buck.  We sat there, and Neil helped me load him onto a trailer.

I remembered all this and then I realized:  I CAN  TAKE THE FREAKING MOUNTAIN.  I just have to do it A LITTLE AT A TIME.  I WILL beat that bad boy!

Thanks Neil.  I owe you.



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