A HUNTER I WAS NOT

      My dad's 16 gauge pump "Remington" shotgun with case was left to me after he passed away. Unfortunately, in the early 1990's it was stolen while in a storage facility. Despite that fact, I was never a hunter, it broke my heart that it was lost. Most family treasures I still possess, but, the fact remains that it was one of the very few things left by him. 

        The realization that I was not a hunter came to me while in college during the mid 1960's. During pheasant hunting season, I came up from Des Moines with a fellow student at Drake to the farm I grew up on and at the time was where my sister, Doris, and brother-in-law, Clyde, lived.

       The guy that I brought up with me was from Chicago and had a new shot-gun that his dad had purchased for him. I'm not sure he ever hunted before as he was always waving his gun around and so it seemed pointing it at me. When we crossed a fence there was that barrel starring at me.

         When the day was over, I knew I would never hunt again--at least pheasants. First, the thought of being shot by a fellow hunter while hunting something I wouldn't eat anyway, and stomping through and over corn stalks on a very cold day just didn't appeal to me. And finally, I was not a very good shot. To sum it up, give me a juicy Butter Ball anytime! I never did hunt again.