When I was around seven years old, my mom was pregnant with my little brother, and my little brother's dad, Clarke, wanted to raise his two Canadian kids in the States for a year or two, so we moved into a big house together. Clarke became best friends with our next door neighbor, Doug. Doug was a hunter, despite his severe disability. Doug was paralyzed completely from the waist down and partially from the neck down due to a motorcycle accident, so while he enjoyed hunting using special programs and modifications to hunt, he couldn't cook all of the game himself, and his helpers weren't exactly fans of the game

Clarke told Doug about me. Clarke theorized that if I lived off of wild game, then I wouldn't struggle with being so sick. Wild game is lean but still very rich in calories, and if I could eat a couple steaks rather than a whole bag of pizza rolls, I may be able to avoid illness if I could avoid the fat. Doug agreed, and told Clarke he'd give me game for free if I ate it, and sent Clarke home with two elk steaks. 

To everyone's surprise, not only did I inhale an entire steak and ask for more, but I didn't get sick from that. Doug was happy that his freezer was finally emptying since, and we were all happy to see me so well without losing weight. But after a few months, we'd run out of game, and I'd have to go back to eating pizza rolls and mac-n-cheese until hunting season rolled around again.