Yeah, my sister raised holy heck for all the feathers and such in the tub.
You know, Keg, I've hunted in Arkansas over flooded timber and rice paddies, but there is just something special about having to hack my way into a swamp along side a small creek to get that one shot at one flight of ducks.
More rewarding sort of.
"Growing up as both a Southern and the son of a child of the '50s, I was imprinted with several things that have long stuck with me. The F-86 Saber Jet was the finest fighter ever flown, the National League is always superior, and Leslie Coffelt
was the finest revovler shooter since Mr. Ed."