The following blog contains potentially disturbing content regarding the hunting and killing of small animals.
After another educational enlightenment at the local coffee shop, Dad and I went groundhog hunting for four and a half hours. Despite the fact that I sometimes try desperately to conceal my small town Central Pennsylvania roots, they always come bursting forth again when I mention things like whistle pigs.
Before anyone complains about killing innocent little animals and girls with guns and all that jazz (but, I suspect if you are the sort of person who would do that, you wouldn't be reading this), I would like to inform you that groundhogs are destructive rodents. They not only eat farmers' soybean crops, but they also dig their holes in fields. Cave-ins can cause tractors to tip and farmers to die. Also, it seems that no matter how many groundhogs my dad and Tim kill, they always multiply the following year.
I shot three groundhogs today, though I fired four shots. I wanted to verify that the third groundhog was dead before I approached it, for fear of it still being alive and running into the brush or its hole with a sucking gun wound (after I shot it, it landed on all fours, and typically that doesn't happen). So, I was upset that I had to take two shots for the same groundhog, but overall my shooting today mostly avenged my horrible shooting on Sunday at the rifle range.
My ranges were 97yds, 87yds and ~50yds with a .222.
At any rate, I love going hunting with my dad. We always have heart-to-heart conversations when we're driving or walking, and it improves my shooting skills, and he always makes me feel good about my shots, even if I'm only shooting at a hundred yards.