The Trophy

In all the hours of practice, I had not attempted a shot that remotely resembled the one I was getting ready to take. My knees dug into the earth and innately my upper body leaned forward to compensate for the steep angle of the sloping hillside. Oblivious to the obstacles, instinct prevailed. Peering through the peephole sight, I found the bull. He walked past the tree and stopped. The trophy stood thirty-two yards away, broadside and unobstructed.

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