My dad was born in 1917, one of ~12 siblings born in the same old farmhouse. The way my dad told it, long before his 'teens, he dreamed of shooting his father's 10-gauge shotgun, which was not allowed. Daily hearing all the wild ducks quacking at the pond just past the wood line behind the house, he just couldn't control himself anymore. So one very early morning he sneaked out of the house with the shotgun and hid in the bushes near the pond, waiting for the ducks to show up, but soon fell asleep.
The quacking woke him suddenly and, in his excitement, he brought the heavy gun up and fired too soon--both barrels! He said he did not get even one duck, but went home with a whole bushel of ducks' feet.
