When my uncle Pete was fifty years old his doctor told him that if he didn’t stop smoking and drinking he was going to die within a year.
Uncle Pete was definitely an alcoholic and a smoker. He began each day with a shot or two of whiskey before breakfast and backed that up with several more throughout the day. He drew great pleasure from his smelly old pipe and his taste for good whiskey.
Well, it turned out that the doctor was kind of right. Uncle Pete did die, but not when the doctor said he would.
Uncle Pete was a blacksmith and horse trader. He bought and sold horses and worked with iron making wonderful things.
One day he was helping a friend shoe a horse. It was a big nervous antsy horse that didn’t like being shod. The horse kicked out suddenly, landing its big hoof on the side of Uncle Pete’s head.
It was a fatal blow. At that time, Uncle Pete was eighty seven years old.
If I remember right, I don’t think they had to embalm him.