This is the first in a continuing series about my weird career in journalism. Evidence of my pistol shooting prowess Fri, Mar 2, 1979 – Page 25 · The Ottawa Journal (Ottawa, Ontario, Canada) · Newspapers.com When I was a little kid on the farm, my granddad taught me to shoot. He didn't take me hunting for turkeys, or vermin. If he had, I wouldn't have touched the pellet gun. I am a life-long animal lover who would often cry when I saw roadkill. So hunting animals was definitely off the table. Grandpa Loyal set up a shooting range in the basement of the farmhouse where he let me practise shooting cards off a makeshift cork board. I had some difficulty -- hey, I was six! -- so he would prop the rifle on top of a chair back, to stabilize the weapon. I absolutely loved the time we spent together. Grandpa Loyal was kind, and smart, and world weary, and he still had so much patience with me. Even now, I feel warm and fuzzy when thinking about the bond we shared. Fast f...
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