I Finally Got A Mud Hen

Now that I am an old coot, I am confessing something from a long time ago: When I first got a .22 rifle, I took it to the pond on our farm and shot at anything that moved. I soon discovered that the American Coots always seemed to dive just as I pulled the trigger. After a great waste of ammunition, and the happy survival of the coots, I returned to the house in tears, wailing to my Mother that I couldn't hit the mud hens. Mother was quietly on the side of the coots, since we didn't consider them fit to eat and there was no reason to kill them.

I wish I could show her that, more than 50 years later, I finally got one!