Lessons From A Cat

As archery season wound down I hadn’t had a shot and George had bagged 14 mice and one red squirrel that I knew about. That dang cat was the most successful hunter I knew. Hey. Maybe if I paid more attention, he could teach me something… .

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My Funny Valentine

I like to think it was my sparkling personality, but I realize now that he was attracted to me because of the big buck that hung in my woods.

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The Island

The island is in a bay off the Maine coast. I have come to the island to hunt. I get dropped off with my gear — a tent, sleeping bag, food, camping stove and archery equipment — and I am scheduled to be picked up in three days. What made me decide to go to this island alone?

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Beau Season

I met him at a wedding and was instantly intrigued. I hoped to see him again, but several months passed with no chance meetings.


I was hoping to fire an arrow in his direction — Cupid’s arrow. Finally, I resorted to strategies not unlike those I used during bow season, for I knew the secrets to a successful hunt.

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Waiting Out Tom Terrific

The low-lying morning mist on the meadow brought to mind memories of sweet heartache. It looked like the roll of dry ice swirling at the feet of crush-struck slow dancers at a senior prom, or storm clouds rolling like a silent sea around the cones of lower mountains on a farewell visit to a special summit.

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Maude And Me

She wasn’t the puppy you were supposed to pick. As the others swarmed up she sat alone, shy. I named her after a long-ago babysitter who always made grunts of disapproval at us–Maude sounded just like her when I picked her up.

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Conrid’s Conversion

When I met Conrid, he’d reached the point in his hunting career when he was only hunting the biggest bucks. And not long after that, he reached the point where he sometimes didn’t feel like hunting at all. That soon changed when he was introduced to archery.

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Mr. Maine Takes A Bow

It was a teasing sunrise, with elements of the departing winter and previews of the summer to come. Long, dark clouds, backlit by the rising sun and outlined in its yellow glow, drifted across the morning sky like scraps of charred paper risen from a campfire.

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Somewhere Yonder

We both know the end of our time together approaches, my dog Kliban and I, but still we linger. I lay on the floor, my arm around his furry neck, scratching his chest as I watch the women’s Olympic marathon. Watching the marathoners reminds me of all the miles Kliban and I have run together, on the roads and through the years.

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