My buddy, Bob, had a friend who didn’t mind slinging a little dirt. Fortunately, the dirt he slung was the earthen kind, not the mental/verbal kind. But even the earthen kind got him in big trouble one time, because he didn’t know when to quit. This friend was a bowhunter whose favorite game animal was the white-tailed deer.
Bob’s buddy, call him Leo, had permission to hunt the edge of a farmer’s cornfield in central Wisconsin. This area had a lot of deer. The deer liked the farmer’s cornfield. The field butted up against a 15-acre swamp that the deer also liked. Plenty of deer ran a trail that came out of the swamp, wrapped around the northeast corner of the cornfield and ended a couple of hundred yards west at a white oak grove that bordered the far end of the cornfield.
Leo thought he had died and gone
