Long story short, he was too close to home and had to be culled from the herd, ending up in the skillet. Not a task to be taken lightly no matter the species or temperature of blood, he fell swiftly to a .38 shot shell. Better he than my children or their dogs.
A bit of red wine and butter, a coating of salt and flour, and a little searing heat went far in creating a little treat of the creature. Enjoyed and respected by all, if his brothers find themselves in the same area, he serves warning that they might find themselves digested into the same circles of life...
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