At bottles, cans and vermin, in the woods at the end of our dead end street.
In the alley, behind the house, at the rats that lived under the garage.
At the rats harassing the live chickens, behind my grandmothers grocery store.
At the rats in my grandfather's scrap yard.
Wonder if rats know how useful they are at helping to make young marksmen.
And on the target range at summer camp.
All either bb guns or .22s.
Life was good.
Walt Kelly, alias Pogo, sez:
“Don't take life so serious, son, it ain't nohow permanent.”