Thanks.
Funny story:
I grew up in a family of hunters. My father holds a record (or did anyhow, I have no idea if it still stands) for a deer he killed in PA. As soon as I was old enough, and I can't remember how old I was, my father bought me a pellet gun. I would go around every single day blasting cans and various targets.
One day Dad came home from work and I was out on the second floor porch. When he got out of his truck, I yelled, "Dad, watch this. I'm going to pop that woodpecker." Surely enough, I took aim at what my father later said was an impossible shot and killed the woodpecker.
I cried for days, lol. It was horrible.
Later my Dad tried to take me hunting for the first time once I was legally allowed to. It was opening day and I had a shotgun in hand. Across trots a nice buck. My heart never beat so fast and I never sweat so much. I put the deer in my scope and literally remembered how I felt about that woodpecker. I missed the deer purposely...
Later I told me Dad and he understood. That was the last time I hunted.
And believe it or not, my father no longer hunts which amazes those who know him. He doesn't hunt for a reason that's pretty special to me, to be honest.
I'm not sure if I told this story here or not but...
I was fishing about 8 years ago or so and a pair of geese swam by with their babies following. They swam by and I thought nothing of it. Sure enough, about an hour later a lone gosling comes swimming by. I assume it was from that family but hatched late. He was small to be out of the egg. He swam past me and then went over a small damn. He couldn't for the life of him get out of the current from below the dam. Not knowing what to do, I eventually went out, got wet and grabbed the gosling.
Long story short -- we ended up keeping that goose for 5 years or so. I saved it's life and it hated the hell out of me. If I got close to it he would attack me hardcore. Their wings are like bricks. He would bite on to my pants and flap it's wings hitting me in the shins. No, it did not feel good at all.
But coming full circle, the goose absolutely loved my Dad. My Dad is really into landscaping. People come to his house, strangers, just to see his flower beds and whatnot. Whenever he would be out working on the yard, which was every waking moment he wasn't working or sleeping, that goose would be right there next to him. We believe that it actually took to him from the start as his parent.
It was my father's shadow, which is an understatement.
Once when my dad left to go to the store, he looked in the rear-view mirror and the goose was literally flying right behind him. Dad stopped and the goose landed and just stood next to the truck.... I shit you not. It was incredible.
At night, we had an old dog pen and as soon as the sun started to hide itself, the goose knew it was time to go to the pen. It actually wanted to... it was it's safety net when it was dark.
Sadly, one night when I wasn't home and my parents had company over, they let the goose out a little later than usual. Sure enough a fox came and attacked the goose. Really awful story to be honest. Dad could hear the goose screaming and he eventually found it about a quarter mile up the road, lying in the middle of the road.
Our local vet actually treated the goose, even though it's illegal to have them. The goose lived for about a week but it's wounds were really bad. Eventually he got a fever... he was so hot that you could feel the heat coming through his down before you even touched him. He was suffering bad and Dad finally couldn't take it anymore. He took him outside and shot him.
He was my Dad's buddy though.
And my Dad never hunted again.
End of story time.
Hey - Hey Steve!