I have a little story here. It was last year, in December to be exact. My best friend’s SIL originally came from Ca, was a non-hunter, non-shooter from a completely likewise family but also is just a quietly great guy. In good humor he bought a shotgun to partake of our pheasant pastimes after becoming a part of the family, but admittedly couldn’t hit a barn door from the inside. And he has proved it multiple times, at least on pheasants.
Fast forward to last year. His oldest boy is now about ten. He had his son go through the requisite safety course and then armed him with a youth model 870 20 ga. I doubt the boy had shot the gun before and I kept a close eye on him; maybe he did few times just to let him know what it’s like. But certainly no real training on clay birds or anything like that. Off to SD goes our cabal of misfits ready to rough it for a couple days of birds, hot tubs, naps and dinner.
Well, father and son are to my right as the dogs work left to right. A big gaudy rooster gets up in front of me but in an instant is out of my lane; it curves sharply to the right arcing in front of the boy who shoots dropping the bird stone dead at about 25 yards. Ok, random atoms do collide spontaneously and all that. Meteors strike the earth on occasion. Birds do fly into high lines too. And the nature-friendly giant windmills (whose carbon footprint is never paid back).
But,..he killed his limit in the same fashion. Two more roosters dropped lifeless to the boy’s shots that day. Three shots, three birds. This is a young boy! It’s more impressive on more reflection. I remember my first bird at maybe twelve — I’m pretty sure my eyes were closed when the shot and it collided but that doesn’t work out well three consecutive times. It took some time before I took my second.
I reminded his dad of that day a couple days ago as we discussed investments. I think he was pretty proud and well he should be.
