At ten years of age, while carrying my BB gun, I walked with my dad, learning the ways of the woods and fields, and gun safety. Got my first shotgun at twelve. Those were magic times and still cherished. Two Stanley thermos bottles; hot chocolate in mine and coffee in his. We would stop at White Castle for a bag of sliders, and buy half a dozen fat Sunday newspapers at the newsstand on the corner, to give to the farmers whose land we would hunt.
Hunting for the sake of killing: Despicable!
Hunting for the sake of killing: Despicable!
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