It’s a sad fact of life that in this vale of tears we have enemies. My enemy is an ancient steel turkey and I took some time off from visiting the sick to take care of unfinished business.
We faced off at 100 yards, just me, the metal bird and a Ruger American .22. To be honest, I had an ulterior motive. Viz. To improve the recent abysmal standard of my off-hand shooting. So I shot away and while my marksmanship was nothing to write home about, it wasn’t too bad either. Take that, turkey.
After a string of satisfying plinks as the .22 rounds hit the bird, I shifted to clays at 50, 75 and 100 yards. A bit more of a challenge than the turk and it’s neat to see them shatter when you hit them. A couple of aggressive tin cans found themselves in trouble too. Breath, squeeze the trigger and watch the can fly up in the air. Neat.
Shoot over, I headed back to the Compound and the prospect of large steaks for dinner. There’s nothing quite like doing your best to break personal stereotypes, I always think.
Your Old Pal,