A few years ago, during spring, I was tramping through some bottomland with my yellow Lab, Daisy.
As we walked a piece of high ground surrounded by a bottomland bog, Daisy, as a good hunting dog should, was about two-thirds of a gunshot length in front of me and was nosing through the grass for a pheasant. Stepping gingerly through the matted-down grass, I felt something push into the back of my calf, creating a dull stabbing kind of pain.
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