by Seth Bynum, DVM The sting of a strong prairie wind bored through heavy nylon, nipped across the tightly-woven fibers of merino wool and threatened to snuff out what little flame of enthusiasm I had left for this late-season upland hunt. Like the pangs of childbirth or chukar hunting, the mind has a way of purging physically traumatic events from memory, and the gale whipping over crusty snow and across my face served as a harsh reminder of how the wind influences life on the American plains. I spent four long winters here, I should know. But when I moved away for...
