I have to agree with Ebbie, back at 01 Aug 15 - 01:46 AM.

When I was a teenager, I used to go fishing in Puget Sound for salmon with my Dad. Dad was born and raised on San Juan Island in the north Puget Sound area, and that was a standard activity up there to put food on the table. We always ate the fish we caught. My Dad was a wizard at broiling salmon steaks in the oven. De-e-e-elicous!! Few things more toothsome than freshly caught salmon.

I had occasion to spend some time in Denver in the mid-Fifties and a friend took me to meet a friend of his. When I walked into the guy's living room, I was astounded at the number and variety of trophy heads he had mounted on the walls. Several heads over the fireplace, but pride of place was across from the fireplace. A huge moose head, complete with a rack that spanned five-and-a half or six feet!

He'd shot it, of course, as he had all the other animals festooning the walls. He proudly announced that it was a record Wyoming moose.

It looked like a locomotive with antlers had crashed through his wall! I would much preferred to have seen a magnificent animal like that roaming free in the wild.

I had another friend who had a Crosman CO2 pellet pistol. One day, there was a plague of flies in his house (someone had left a screen door open, and it was a warm, summer day). He was tired of chasing them with a fly-swatter, but he discovered that the Crosman, loaded with a CO2 cartridge—minus pellets—fired a jet of gas strong enough that, if it would have put a pellet within an inch or two of a fly—at about ten feet—it was strong enough to kill the fly.

He was having a helluvalot of fun sitting in his recliner and taking pot shots at flies.

His wife drew the line when she caught him holding the screen door open to let in more targets….

Don Firth