Would have to be my first one. Growing up on a farm, it had become part of my chores to keep crows out of the corn. This meant VERY early trips to the fields on school days. I had sold a pig and bought a Mod. 69 Win. .22. (clip fed, reciever sights). This was as fine a shooting .22 as I had ever shot...but, in no time the crows learned my limitations. It became exceedingly difficult to get a shot even though I could call pretty well just imitating the CAAAWWaaawwwAW, "C'mere guys" call, by mouth. Granted, by my continued presence, I was keeping the crows away, but darn it I wanted to shoot something! There was a huge black gum tree above Uncle Charlies spring, this is where the old "sentinel crow" always sat, it was in a pasture field, no way to get close enough to shoot him with the .22. We watched each other for two years (can't swear it was the same crow but the symbolism was the same). Then for an FFA project at school, dad helped me raise a calf to veal. That coupled with some hayfield money, berry picking money and collected pop bottle money, introduced me to the world of center fire rifles. I was able to purchase a Savage 340 in .222 for $63.00, the gun shop owner threw in a box of Rem. ammo. I shot in the open sights, using my box of ammo sparingly. One round was used on a quart motor oil can placed judiciously at the base of the black gum, shot from my new hiding place far, far away (I'm guessing about 200 yards)...dead center! Next morning, first light, I was waiting behind a hay stack, good locust fence post for a rest when I heard the first caw,caw,caw. I still feel the shiver that went up my back...theywerecoming...caw,caw,caw,...caw,caw,caw...CAW,CAW,CAW...and then there he was, the sentinel, perched on the highest limb of the black gum. Keeping my head down, sensing even then, that eye contact would alert 'ole blackie, I slowly, raised the rifle to the second rung of the rail fence around the haystack, safety off,...fine bead,no full...half bead, yep that should do it... breath...just like Jack O'Conner taking a ram across a wide ravine...squeeze...CRACK!!!!!!!! That is the defining moment of my love of rifles and shooting. 'Ole blackie exploded in a cloud of feathers. The crows around our farm never felt safe again. The rest of my waking moments were centered around the terrible financial burden that 20 rounds of center fire ammo imposed (Almost $3.00!!!). This is running pretty long, but you asked. If you'd like I can relate the story of the Braxton Co. chicken stealin' cat at another time.
Thanx for asking;
ears-