I STARTED MY shooting career as a rough-shooting pot hunter, an apprenticeship that affected my attitude to game for the rest of my life. Woodpigeons were my staple quarry. None were wasted: I used to pluck and dress surplus birds to sell to friends, the revenue raised paying for more cartridges. Pheasants and woodcock rarely featured in the bag; if they did they were never sold but were always cooked with some ceremony.
In later years I became involved with working and training my spaniels, but using dead game as
