The Twelve Days of Christmas
By Danny Greenlee
[ Day 1 ]
It was Doce's first day of winter vacation and while all the other boys wereout supplementing their Christmas lists Doce's father had other plans."But Dad, all the other boys are going to the store, and, well....""Well whut?" Doce's father challenged."It's just that, well, just that I don't really like hunting," Doce stammered."Boy, women shop.
hunt. Which one are ya Doce?" The answer seemed like it should be obvious, but it wasn't. Doce was not yeta man and not still a boy. He was twelve years old, straddling the fencebetween boyhood and manhood, trudging through the deep Wisconsin snowwith a 12-gauge Winchester shifting uncertainly between the tractionlesswool mittens his mother knit him the Christmas before."Dad, we've been walking all day. Can we go home if we don't find any inanother hour?" Doce pleaded."No we cannot Doce," his father rejected, and after a pause, "I think'rproblem is that every God damn son of a bitch and......er, I mean...... Everygosh darn son of a bitch and his brother hunts this same land. We need sumfresh terrain, that's all. Let's go this way."Half an hour was spent weaving between evergreens before they reached acrimson wooden fence that Doce recognized."Here we are," Doce's father announced majestically."This is Farmer Bruce's land Dad,
hunt here can we?""Sure we can boy, so long as we're quiet about it," Doce's father said,