On vacation, having already gone bike riding, swimming, golfed and played tennis, we decided to try something completely new and different.  Skeet shooting.  There is a range a mile away where you shoot pigeons.

My lifetime experience shooting a gun is filling the clown's mouth with a water gun and blowing up the balloon at a carnival.  So I wasn't sure what to expect from puling the tigger on a real shotgun.

And those poor pigeons.  How do they all get stuffed into some contraption that propels them into the air?  Of course they are not real pigoens, they are clay pigeons, and they are not even that.  They are four inch ceramic frisbees painted bright orange that explodes when your shot hits its mark.

At the range they gave us shooting vests with big pockets to hold our 28 rounds, and a quick lesson on how to load, aim and shoot. Whatever you do, they said, never point your gun downwards, even when you think it is unloaded. Keep it pointed up. I put on my vest, first making sure there was no target painted on the back. 

The first thing I noticed was how heavy the shotgun was.  I would easily tire having to carry one of those around if I was in the army.  And, as expected, the recoil from the blast pushed hard on my shoulder.  But at my first try, the little flying disc was obliterated. 

Proud of ourselves, we all posed for a picture after firing off all of our rounds.  I held my gun for the shot, pointed to the ground. Oops.  There is one in every crowd.