Some of my earliest memories are of tagging along behind my Dad and a couple of his brothers right after WWII and feeling cold, as I carried one of the rabbits they'd shot. The beagle would run by, panting with heavy clouds of his hot breath following him. My first kill was a ground hog. I bellied up to look over the brow of a knoll and shot him as he stood up on his berm. Later came countless squirrels, rabbits, quail and pheasant, all around Maryland. Then deer and a life of hunting.