Growing up in the Treasure State, as a kid, I cut my teeth on Sunday afternoon station wagon drives with my family. Spying a herd of bighorns casually crossing a...
Growing up in the Treasure State, as a kid, I cut my teeth on Sunday afternoon station wagon drives with my family. Spying a herd of bighorns casually crossing a gravel road was as common as seeing cows in a pasture. The massive curled horns of the rams reminded me of old growth rings of a tree. Even its neutral-colored-high-plains-camo coat paralleled with that of most deciduous.
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