Running free with Barmy and Brummie, the twin coyotes, across the windswept plains of Illinois, the tall corn in stately rows over our heads, the dead chickens in our mouths dripping blood as we ran...the smell of the rain as it swept in from the West and brought new life to the parched land, the whiff of the shot and the sharp odor of powder as the farmer playfully ordered us off his land, the fights for Alpha, the song fests at night when we were all well fed....
I can't continue, the tears are streaming down now for What Might Have Been.