I lost a hunting buddy

[Phil Yearout]

My wife's brother has been suffering with a terrible disease called Total System Atrophy (akin to Parkinson's or Lou Gehrig's); he's been wheel chair bound for the past few years. We lost him Wednesday. He was about 14-15 years old when I first showed up as a long haired freaky art student for my first date with his big sister; he's almost more brother to me than my own two, both somewhat older than I. We've stomped many a bird cover together and even though I always toted a double gun and he shot one of those auto thingies (and shot them well) we navigated these old prairies pretty well. In a way it's a blessing I suppose; he had nothing but suffering ahead. But still. Here he is in happier times with his three granddaughters. Stanley Merlin Critchfield - rest well, brother. I love ya. I'm reminded of the ending of a John Hewitt story where John's father was asked if an old friend had been a good hunting partner. His reply: "As good as there was. As good as there was."