410 mean a lot to me, even more so since my dad died in 1985. He was never a very excitable man, so hearing him tell the story with such delight still makes me smile. Returning home, he explained to my mom how surprised he was that I had hit the rabbit. My dad's laugh is still clear in my memory. I proudly lifted the rabbit up, grabbing it by the hind feet. Much to my dad's amazement, and mine, the rabbit was lying there. I found the rabbit at the same time Lady did. I handed the gun back to Dad and ran to where I'd shot at the rabbit. Lady, at the sound of the shot, hit a high tenor voice and now was coming through the snow like a freight train. I fired and a cloud of snow erupted, blocking my view of whether I had hit the target or not. In awe, I carefully took the gun and aimed. "It's cocked and ready to go, see if you can shoot the rabbit," he said. Much to my surprise, after my several failed attempts at pointing out the rabbit, Dad did something that still amazes me today. Lady's turbo-thrusters kicked in as the scent got hotter, and she was coming fast! It would be only a few moments before the rabbit would decide to gain more distance between itself and the incoming beagle. I could see the rabbit, but Dad couldn't, and I tried in earnest to point to where it was. Moments later, the rabbit came bounding through the brush from our right. Dad and I were on high alert, waiting for the first sight of that rabbit. Well, Lady was getting closer, and her barking intensified with every second. Those who rabbit hunt with a hound know that rabbits make a circle when being chased. There was about a foot of snow on the ground, and I was standing a few feet to my dad's right. Our beagle, Lady, was hot on the trail of a cottontail. I was walking with my dad as we hunted for rabbits on a friend's property in the Marshfield area in central Wisconsin. 410 as our first gun while small game hunting for rabbits and squirrels. One can only imagine how much $20 could have purchased to support the household in those days.įast-forward to the 1970s. As the story goes, my grandfather didn't tell Grandma he was going to spend the $20 on the gift, and she was a bit upset at such an extravagance. My dad got the little gun on his 8th birthday in 1928, the year before the Great Depression. Some have their great-grandparents' silverware, or maybe an old bed or trunk was brought over from the "old country." In my case, I'm the caretaker of my father's Iver Johnson "Champion" single-shot. There are many who have family heirlooms that have been handed down from generation to generation. 410 gauge shotgun passed down from his father. Author Kevin Feind bagged a turkey in spring 2017 with the Iver Johnson.
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