Oh, he's cute. Mr. I can never sleep when I'm traveling. He's hugging his pillow like a sloth on a branch.

He couldn't sleep before. Now listen to him him sounds like an elephant with a chest infection

Well they call him a dreamer and now they're right all aboard mister I can never sleep when I'm traveling.

Find all the comfort you need in the quiet lounge.

Piando Ferries, there is another way.

I'm from the beautiful small town of Princeton, Indiana. It's grown a bit in recent years, but back when I was 17, the time when this encounter happened it was still a typical small town America

kind of place. I grew up in a hunting and fishing family. We were taught how to live off the land and respect life at an early age.

My dad took each of us kids squirrel hunting at the young age of 10.

He taught us proper gun handling and safety and the best techniques for hunting.

I did pretty well on my first outing, but my brother Gary, not so much. Dad said he had never been aimed at so much in his life.

Every time he turned around he was staring down the barrel of Gary's gun.

That probably wouldn't have bothered him nearly so much if it hadn't been for my brother's evil grin.

For me, hunting was a man's ride of passage.

I had my dad and older brother as examples of everything a hunter should be, and I was bound

and determined to meet their standards, and it was not easy.

The first squirrel that I ever killed was on a hunt with my dad, and it was the biggest thrill of

my life until I had to field dress it.

Mom's awesome fried squirrel,

Biscuits and gravy didn't quite taste the same that night.

As I stared down at my plate of food, all I could see was that little squirrel staring back up at me while I was pulling its guts out.

Finally, Dad leaned over and he said, God provided our food, it's wrong to kill anything

you're not gonna eat.

...