When I was a kid we used to shoot crows on Thanksgiving.  When wounding one, it would squawk to the attention of the others.  They would gather around the injured in a squadron formation.

Landing to the rifleman’s aim.  With adventure in our eyes, after church we went to Hooters.  The same holy sermon on the mount melded into mounts propagating the same titillating sermon.

Even so, quality buffalo wings are the main attraction.  We have to shoot that dog.  Putting him to sleep costs two-hunnerd dollars.  A 9mm round costs two cents.  And that mutt is liable to kill other hounds.

And asides, I am too busy to bother.

All photos taken in Wichita, Kansas.