A creature's antlers are capable of doing things that no other bone can.

A white-tailed deer was killed in the forests of Oklahoma by my father just before I was born in the 1980s.

 After Tony's death, my brothers told me the story of how they named the buck after him. 

They informed me, "Dad shot him," with joy. We were forced to consume him after that.

Because of the circumstances surrounding Tony's death, I was really upset with myself. 

But I was also enthralled by it. The antlers of Tony's deer hung from wall to wall in the corner of the living room, with tines arcing toward the ceiling.

 If Tony had lived, I could feel the creases and lumps on the bone through my toes, which made me envision what the antlers might have looked like. 

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