About 30 years ago, my good friend Rob and I were sitting around and decided when one of us died, the other would load his cremated trigger finger in a shot shell. A few years later, after I’d retired from the Army to the state of Florida, I received a call from a mutual friend Rob had died. His widow requested the funeral director remove his finger and cremate it separately. He responded he couldn’t do that, but could send the body to a surgeon in Baltimore to remove the finger. She requested a knife and said she’d cut it off herself. A compromise was reached whereby he would set aside a small portion for our use. I flew up for the funeral and afterwards the mutual friend and I took those ashes and loaded shells. That was in February. In April, his son and friends and I converged on Clark Range, TN, found a dogwood tree in bloom and took Rob hunting one more time. Each friend in turn shooting his ashes over the tree. The empty case sits in my gun safe. If I hear noises in the bedroom, I just tell myself Rob is just rummaging around inside fondling my guns.