I was ten when I made my first kill; it was a large rabbit that fell victim to the killing.
It was a Saturday morning with my uncle and my cousin. I had stayed at their house the previous night as we were getting up early on the Saturday morning to go fox hunting on my uncles friends land, and he was also coming with us.
We all got up at eight o'clock and packed the gear into the car then set off for Blackwatertown. We arrived there shortly after nine, unpacked the car and set off across the fields. It had snowed the previous evening and it was a bitterly cold morning. The snow was hard underfoot and the morning air was fresh.
After trekking over several fields we heard a gun shot. On this we stopped dead in our tracks to take stock of the situation.
We visually scanned the surrounding area and on hearing another shot we realised someone was hunting pheasant out to our right. As we proceeded onward we veered left out of the path of the pheasant hunters.
Sometime shortly after that, we heard a rustling noise coming from a hedgerow. All of a sudden a dark red fox shot out of the hedgerow like a bullet from a gun and darted across the field. As this all took place my uncle took aim and fired! The sound echoed around the valley causing us to jump. To our amazement the fox fell hard to the ground with a thud, it was the first kill of the day.
My Uncle sent me and my cousin over to retrieve it and bring it back. As we lifted it, it was like trying to carry a large bag of potatoes on your back, which at...