This brings back some of my fondest memories of my childhood, of all-nighters in the bush with my Dad and the hounds. Half of our first house was paid for through the sale of these pelts and other furry critters we trapped. I still remember the sound of Dan and Ann baying a quarter mile off, having treed their first one for the night as we walked toward the bush through a hundred different corn fields. I could write a book about the dramas that played out. Shooting a big boar that fell into a slough and my Dad having to kick it off Dan’s face because it was latched on to him and holding his head under water. The thwack of a well placed shot from a Cooey .22 and the thud of the animal hitting the ground. Seeing constellations in the sky that have not changed in the 45 years since.