I can't resist telling this one. This story takes a long time to tell.... if you do it right. I'll give you the Reader's Digest version. By the way, it's true.

My dad and my uncle, just after WWII, took Uncle Anthony (pronounced An'ny in Kent County, New Brunswick, Canada) on a fishing trip one late May day. They parked their car on a tote road and fished the East Branch of the Little Forks Stream to the junction of the West Forks and then the West back to the road. About 16km through fairly flat country, so those of you who are woodsman know how tough the going can be... beaver dams, flats, sloughs, the works ! An'ny was seventy-five years old, but lived his whole life in Kent County working on the farm and in the woods, so he was tough as nails and the lads thought they were doing a great service for the old boy. The walk to the car was another 4km.

When they got him back home, some sixteen hours after they had started out, they asked him if he enjoyed the day. In his KC drawl, he said that when he died, he was going to ask Saint Peter one favour at the gates... that he be allowed to come back when my dad and uncle were seventy-five and take them on the same GD'd trip they took him that day.