" Daniel Boone," I said, making small talk, "used to bark off a squirrel, in other words shoot the seat out from under him, killing the squirrel by the concussion, leaving the carcass intact."
"Possibly so," said Sam, "but you couldn't do that with a .22 rifle. I generally aim for the eye." He turned and smiled pleasantly at one of the lady guests who swallowed with difficulty and remarked that she had never eaten fried squirrel. Her tone indicated that she had no intention of ever doing so.
"The toughest shooting there is," I said, drawing on the scantiest possible knowledge of the subject, "is shooting crows. Crows are the smartest birds alive."
Sam shook his head. "Not for me. I got me a record of crow calls and a player machine. I'll go out in the fields and git crows any time."
"I've seen that done," I said. "What about wild turkeys? What kind of call do you use for them?"
"Mostly no call," said Sam. "I can imitate a turkey with my voice."
"Oh, yes," I said, "I remember at the pro-am over at Hot Springs yesterday. You started to chirp and cluck and gobble like a turkey at one of the tees, I forget which, and then you went way back in the woods and came out chirping and clucking, and then you told the gallery that there was a bird in there but he wouldn't answer your call."
Sam flushed a little but didn't say anything.
Gary Nixon leaned over and whispered in my ear: "I believe Sam was looking for the powder room."
"Sam," the lady guest suddenly exclaimed, "could you get me a wild turkey for a dinner party I'm giving?"