Quote by Jim Casada

“At this moment a blood-pressure estimate would bust the machine that takes it. Your heart is so loud it sounds like a pile driver. There is something in your throat about the size of a football, and your lips are dry from the temperature you're running, which is maybe just under 110 degrees Fahrenheit. You are looking straight ahead of the dog—never down at the ground—and you are carrying your shotgun slanted across your chest the stock slightly cocked under your elbow. Nothing happens. The dog creeps forward another six yards, and you come up behind him when he freezes again. This time he’s looking right down at his forefeet, and when you walk past him he jumps and the world blows up. The world explodes, and a billion bits of it fly out in front of you, tiny brown bits with the thunder of love in each wing. They go in all directions—right, left, behind you, over your head, sometimes straight at you, sometimes straight up before they level. Then a miracle happens. Out of these billion bits you choose one bit and fire, and if the bit explodes in a cloud of feathers you choose another bit and fire again, and if this bit also explodes you break your gun swiftly and load, figuring maybe there’s a lay bird and you can turn to the Old Man with a grin, and when he says, “How many?” you can answer, “Three.” More likely you’ll answer, “One” or “None.”’ - November Was Always the Best By Robert Ruark”

Quote by Jim Casada