One day that winter Lonny’s wife must have gone down to the freezer and fetched a package of venison. She would have unwrapped the paper, revealing a mass of intestines, ears, tails, teeth—even a nose—topped with whitetail eyes goggling at her from the top of the heap. Farm wives see their share of blood and guts, but she probably screamed anyway. No one knew for sure, because Lonny never said a word about it. But he never came to deer butchering drunk again, either.