Hunting
At 3 a.m. in this huge city, a man enters my home. Before I had a gun that was mine I was a quail-fetch. Shooting from bird blinds, the men were stationary while I traversed through marsh and field with the dogs to recover their slain. If the quail or dove or duck was still alive after the shells, the fall, and the dogs it was up to me to put it out of its misery. When killing a bird with your hands expediency is essential for mercy. They usually flutter and peck a great deal, and...