The unusually breezy summer evening was more than perfect hunting weather for Philip Schoppe. The dogs were packed in the truck, his knife tucked securely in his back pocket, and dusk was just completing its short run for the day, giving way to dark. Sweat, swine and grain mixed to make a thick summer air run like a syrup through his lungs, and Schoppe stopped to inhale it, waiting to hear the telltale bark of the lead dog informing him that the prize... More >>>