Coyote hunting a preemptive measure to hinder cabin fever
"There's one right there!" my friend Jeff Tschetter yelled as he slammed on the brakes and we skidded to a halt.
The seat belt across my lap threw a mean sucker punch as I lurched forward from the sudden stop.
Jeff frantically pointed, his finger tapping the window like the staccato of Morse code.
I was still trying to catch my breath as I pulled the .223 from its sheath and stumbled out the back door of the pickup truck.
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