While I don’t remember my first hunt, I’ve heard my grandparents tell the story a thousand times.One September morning, my grandpa took me to the back 40 acres to shoot a dove or two when I was six. As we walked up to the pond on the backside of his property, a morning dove was sitting in a tree.
I took aim, pulled the trigger, and excitedly went to see if I could find it!
Little did I know I had missed entirely, and my grandpa tried telling me, but I was convinced I had just harvested my first bird. And sure enough, I found a dead bird near the tree! I proudly walked back to my grandparent's house with bird in hand to show my grandma I had shot dinner. As the story goes, I showed the bird to Granny, and her eyes got huge because I was holding a bird that had been dead for at least a week or longer.
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