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“I wasn’t going hunting. I was taking my dog down to the river to shoot him.”
We never shot a deer and there were no bear that I remember. Sometimes we’d shoot blackbirds for fun, occasionally eating their dark meat. It wasn’t very good. We had Boy Scout manuals that taught us how to build a bird trap that looked like a pyramid with cracks. Put some corn in it and the birds would eat the corn and trip the cage. We also shot squirrel, baked them, or made squirrel pot pies. It was a tough, brown meat and had a few buck shot in it. After I got into X-ray, you’d often see bird shot in some guy’s intestine and that meant they’d been eating squirrel or quail. The best shot in town was a man who’d lost his eye in World War I, a Mr. Nix. Throw a dime in the air and he’d shoot a hole in it.
An Arkansas hunter was telling an Ala- bamian how good the hunting was in Arkansas.
“Once we were `coon huntin’ and we found a tree where `coons were running out the top of the tree. They’d run down the trunk and go into a hole at the tree’s
