At the Bitterroot Mercantile in Darby, Montana, the clientele expect a certain ambiance. It isn’t enough that there are trophies on the wall. The animal heads must come from something the owner hunted and have a story to go with it. Unluckily for Ken, he’d only ever bagged one animal and that had been more traffic accident than safari. Still, he dutifully hung the ram’s head on his wall and claimed a kinship with Earnest Hemingway right up until the last inventory. Then Marge got a hold of the moth eaten thing, and no one has seen is since.
photo copyright Adam Ickes
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Despite the uncanny resemblance to a number of Montana natives, this is purely a work of fiction. No animals were harmed in the making of this story. Nor was anyone’s pride bent. And you guys down at Radio Shack can keep the free gun. I’m not ordering satellite from you.
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