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Note: I want this piece in the memoir to "break the fourth wall" in a way. I just don't know where it would fit. And it does reference writings I haven't posted yet, but are currently drafts. I also added a completely random story I was reminded of when I was looking through some old pictures. It's more of an anecdote more than anything, but it's definitely memoir-worthy in my eyes. It's actually an introduction to the side of my life I haven't really touched on yet in any memoir writings, which is the farm life.
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For almost two years, I haven't been feeling myself. I've been sick, underweight, and overall just not where I used to be. However, that's all about to change.
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Note: I'm really bad at names.
I was never very good at school sports. I couldn't compete against my peers most of the time. In school, except for maybe the first few grades of elementary school, I was the runt of the litter thanks to my disease. I was always the last to be picked when a peer was asked to sort out teams. I was often bullied and jeered at during PE, so I quickly learned to hate it.
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NOTE: In this, I will be explaining some pretty graphic content in regards to how I processed the pronghorn. As you can imagine, turning an animal into food is pretty gory. I may include some pictures too, just because I've been doing some thinking and discussing with other hunters, who believe and have convinced me, that the best way to honor an animal is to describe and show people exactly how it is treated after death. Believe it or not, most people have no idea what their meat went through to become a steak on a plate, or what their leather went through to become a wallet, or how nature works, or what nature really is. As a hunter, I feel responsible to show people the side of hunting that is hardly ever shown or discussed outside of hunters.
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I’ll always remember that old cornfield, that’s right across the road from a rather new middle school. It’s where the hooves of many horses I’ve known have galloped. From an old red bay called Peter, to a spunky chestnut roan called Smudge, to a patchy red paint called Apache.
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