Sometimes when you're a boy (not that I would now, but I'm pretty observant) you experience a foretaste of Heaven. Like when you get to forge your own knife blade. With steel. In coal. And then you bring it home and sharpen and sharpen it.
With your Dad's sharpener.
And then you lovingly get out your leather working stuff, and...with a lot of noise and a fair bit of bragging, too...you wrap the handle in soft leather and make a cool design on it.
And this, for Huckleberry, constitutes the
Best. Day. Ever.
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