III.
Me and my coonhound Charlie head out early morning. I tread lightly, sneaking. Charlie crashes ahead, howling, yapping, flushing birds. Shadows crouch down low. The sun climbs, burns away fog. Halfway to the creek, two quail and a rabbit bagged. Enough to feed us through next week, if we’re careful. Been years since I’ve seen deer up here; too crowded. I get to thinking about Black Lightening, how he’d feed us all winter, clear into spring, and then I see him: across a meadow, nibbling blueberries. Charlie tucks tail and runs. Hold steady, boy, aim careful now. Don’t flinch.