COLUMBUS _ Buddy and I were in the barn, removing nails from two-by-fours, when a maroon pickup truck crunched down the gravel driveway.

``Uncle Chet’s here." The little boy spun around and waved.

The horn tooted once and the driver got out.

``Where’s your better half?’’ He moseyed over to us, holding a large covered dish.

``Inside.’’ I pounded a nail back through a board lying across metal saw horses.

``Thought she might be hunting.’’

``She went hunting this morning,’’ said Buddy, who had his own hammer.

``Did she see anything?’’ Uncle Chet asked.

``A couple,’’ we replied together.

``She didn’t shoot,’’ Buddy said.[an error occurred while processing this directive]