More about Woody

Woody and I enjoyed hunting together for a few more years. He always brought his pumpkin pie and whipped creme.

Woody contracted Hepatitis C during those years fighting in Vietnam. During the time I had the pleasure of knowing Woody, his health slowly deteriorated. He spent his last days at the VA hospital in Houston.

Woody called me late at night almost every night, scared to go to sleep. We would BS. We talked about hunting, dogs, guns and general BS.

Woody died from liver failure. I hate funerals, and I couldn't bear the thought of no more Woody. I couldn't go.

Instead, I choose to remember Woody in his white parka whispering across the decoys drawling, "You Boys want some piiiiie?"