One of the things about the Apocalypse is that it's searingly hot. Imagine a preheating oven and in its midst are tiny fragments of combustible dust, super dry, ready to ignite. No kidding, Texas in mid-September is like an air bomb about to go off. Terrifying.
It didn't fortunately, but dove did explode out of the trees as I patrolled their welcome shade. A few years back I thought nothing of walking the treelines in 100+* and scaring up dove, snapshot!, and you never know, sometimes the shot would even connect. Let's see those poppers.
These days an armed stroll in the oven doesn't have quite the same appeal, but the excitement of wingshooting does. Message to market? Go for a walkabout with a #20, shoot some fliers, hopefully, then set up along the flight path with some mojos and have at it.
Then put those morsels of apocalyptic goodness into cream-cheese-filled jalapenos, wrap the beasts in bacon and off you go, to Valhalla and beyond. But word to the wise.
Keep your finger off the trigger till you're ready to shoot.
Eschaton,
LSP
