Shoot The Turkey

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,

LSP

Hog Poetry

I know, I know, it's been a long while since I posted a hog poem and I apologize for that. But here's something, inspired by Manhattan Infidel.

“Master thyself, then others shall thee beare”

     Pull down thy vanity

Thou art a beaten hog beneath the hail,

A swollen magpie in a fitful sun,

Half black half white

Nor knowst’ou wing from tail

Pull down thy vanity

     How mean thy hates

Fostered in falsity,

     Pull down thy vanity,

Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,

Pull down thy vanity,

     I say pull down the trigger,

And slay the hog.

With no apologies to Mr. Pound.

LSP