LOL.... I got lucky when 8-9 years old back in the 70s.....yeah, I guess I’m a pup comparatively.
. My dad didn’t hunt much, but he’d drop me off with my football coach who had a skeet and trap range next door, fill with old clays and quail curmudgeons. They’d all tell me something different, one day to the next, but I had all the clays and shells I could shoot, and all the surrounding land was a quail, rabbit, and dove paradise at the time. I figured a few things out a little over 8-10 years of hanging around with Wally’s skeet club gang and trailing dogs. Those days are gone, but I was glad to nibble the tail end of that culture, at least.
