A Giant Presence, Forever Remembered
Clubber graced us with his presence. We'd see him emerge from the treeline at dawn, moving with the confidence of a deer who knew he owned those woods. He had a way of appearing just out of range, as if he knew exactly where we were sitting, probably smirking in that deer way of his.
Countless hours we spent watching him, waiting for that perfect moment. He became more than just a deer—he was a worthy adversary, a familiar face, a part of our hunting tradition. We'd swap stories about Clubber sightings like fishermen talking about the one that got away.
In a cruel twist of irony, Clubber—who had outsmarted hunters for years—met his end not in the noble woods he called home, but on a stretch of asphalt. Taken from us too soon by an indifferent automobile, he deserved a hunter's farewell, not a roadside tragedy.
Rest easy, old friend. You were a magnificent creature, and the woods won't be the same without you.