Ken and his buddies did some clay pigeon shooting on Turkey Day. I'm not much of a shotgun gal, but I don't mind shooting a .22 every once in a while. From what I recall, the last time I did skeet shooting, my Pa felt so bad that I couldn't hit a flying target that he lined up some of the clays along a fence for me (how sad). Flying objects may get my mercy, but this is not so for any furry running friends.
Turkey = food coma.
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