As a young man, as I was saying, I decided to set myself some traps around the carcass to see what I could catch. (The animals that came to the carcass) When I went to check my traps, there was a buzzard caught in the trap. Not wanting to kill a protected species, I decided that I would try to release the thing from the trap. Due to its wild nature, it fought me and didn’t want me to have any part of it. Whenever I grabbed it by the legs to confine it, at point-blank range or face to face, I guess I could say, to the animal, or to the fowl, you could say. Due to their protective nature, the thing puked on me, or throwed up, straight in my face. It didn’t feel good, and it definitely didn’t smell good. It’s an odor I’ll never forget. It’s almost indescribable.

As human beings go, I naturally wanted revenge and I killed it. I beat, although it was still in the trap, on the ground. I was so angry with it, that by the time I got finished, it would have been hard to really told what kind of animal or bird it was. I mean it was beaten to smithereens. It seemed like for three or four days, I could still smell that vomit or puke. I couldn’t wash enough to get that smell off of me. To this day, when things hit me in the face, I think about that story. It’s not one that I cherish, want to remember or ever go through again.