WHEN TO CUT THE HOOK
I was ten years old when my younger brother hooked me behind the ear with his new bass plug. Traveling over rough country roads for what seemed like hours, we finally arrived at the clinic in what was then Clemenceau, Arizona. After a brief examination, the doctor muttered, more to himself than anyone else in the room, “I’ll have to cut the hook off first.” Alarmed that he might lose his fishing plug, my little brother spoke up: “Ya only do that when they swallow it!” From Clarence W. Durham, Mathis, Texas, Arizona Highways, October 1992, pg. 50
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