Steve, sitting here looking at a picute of George and I in the dogging field and looking at some of his knives. Still brings a lump to the throat. I miss him. Bubba
Bubba, my good friend,
I miss him too. A lot.
In the quiet times, I think a lot about George. And I must admit to misty eyes a time or three over the old cuss.
We were so fortunate to have known and loved George.
Your friend Steve
