A pheasant faux pas
It must be a couple of years since it happened, but the whole thing is as clear as if it were yesterday. My uncle, who was well into his seventies, rang to ask if I could spare a day early in the season in order to join him at shooting a few pheasants. He felt time was catching up with him and, what with rheumatism in his shoulders adding to the difficulty of getting the gun up, let alone getting on to the quarry, needed a little help from the younger generation.
The idea was to shoot a fair few birds so that he could give away all the ‘duty’ braces. He would then feel
