Let’s Go Plinking! — A Boy and His .22 Rifle
While not as long in the tooth as some, I have fond memories from childhood, plinking my way through the hills and forests. Pinecones were trophy bucks, man-eating tigers, and unsuspecting enemy soldiers. The end of a branch or piece of hanging fruit were no safer, most were members of a hostile Indian tribe unlucky enough to have crossed paths the Duke and me. [Read more…] about Let’s Go Plinking! — A Boy and His .22 Rifle
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