White-tail deer season is approaching.  I have the rifles for it.  Or a handgun.  Or a slug-throwing shotgun.  What I don’t have is the freezer space for a butchered deer.  There are large cat sanctuaries in driving distance who’d probably take what I didn’t want.

But I’m also getting older. My knees are not what they once were.  Rough terrain plays hob on them, now.  I may have to confine my riflery to a range and buy my meat from the store.  Sucks, it does 

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