Bubba, my father hunted "everything", and fished as well. I had pellet guns and 22'sas a youth, would shoot small birds, squirrels, gofers, etc, longing to hunt game with my dad. Shot a bird from my back porch, younger siblings watching, and we all ran out to view my "kill". Instead of a glamorous kill, we found a bloody bird flopping on the ground, "crying" in pain. My younger siblings began to cry out for this poor bird. I loaded another pellet and pumped my gun, fired, and hit it again, to no avail. It bled more, chirped more, and "flopped" more violently. I repeated this a couple more times. More blood, more chirping, more flopping, more crying. I don't remember exactly how I "finished it", but it wasn't "pretty", and was the last time I shot a living thing. Neither of my two brothers have since, so I can only assume it was equally as traumatic for them (they would have been around 8 and 4 years old, sister about 10).

I do still love fishing and shooting the occasional inanimate.