...so at fourteen years old he was excited about his grouse hunting trip in North Dakota. His older brother let him skip school so he could go. Walking that brush on a beautiful fall day was wonderful. The sage hen lifted off ever so slow looking to gain altitude, a belly heavy from wild berries. The noise was deafening. Beautiful and expensive 12 gauge shotguns blasting. A side-by-side emptied to his right. A beautiful Remington 1100 semi-auto to his left. The silence was almost as deafening as the smell of gunpowder lingered in the air and frustration made it's appearance on his brothers and his companions face. "He's outta range" came from his right. The fourteen year old heard it, but paid no attention. He lifted his barrel slowly on that fat hen looking for more sustenance. Right between the faces of frustration. One shot, because that's all he had. A forty dollar 20 gauge topper his father had bought him. Was that a dead grouse or was it a handgun safe dropped out of a two story window? Both looked the same. I've never been a gun snob because of that incident. And never will be.