After I was presented with my 4-10 shotgun, Daddy suggested we go pheasant hunting. I was certainly excited to go hunting with Daddy!
We crossed the highway and walked slowly through the tall grass in the field on the east side of our property. Daddy carried his 10 gauge shotgun over his shoulder. As I had been taught, I kept my gun carefully pointed safely at the ground in front of my feet.
Suddenly, a pheasant burst from the thick grass a few feet in front of me. Startled, I jerked back, firing the gun! The bird dropped dead, a direct hit! I had accidentally bagged a prime rooster pheasant.
That night, as we enjoyed dinner, we had to carefully spit out the bee-bee shot in the bird meat. Daddy said to me, “Robbie, next time let the bird get further away before you shoot.” I said “sure”, but I was too embarrassed to tell him my shot was not on purpose, but an accident of my being startled.
I just enjoyed the compliments for bagging a pheasant on my first hunting trip.
After seeing the beautiful dead bird, and thinking how easy it was to accidentally fire a gun, I decided hunting was not for me. We never went hunting again.