I suspect only Mike will get the reference in the post title.

If you don’t get it, that’s what you get for having a practical major in college.

History geeks rule!

At any rate, the Smallholder Martel post is about raccoons.

I have suffered under the calumny of my friends regarding my alleged leniency with the masked four legged bandits at Sweet Seasons Farm.

However, the recent loss of Guineas to the little punks has your humble Smallholder on the warpath. And since Kevin, who perhaps has forgiven the ire aroused by my imprudent post on dating, has steered us back towards agriculture, I have a little farm news to report.

Looking out my window on Friday, I saw a raccoon slinking towards the barn. I ran downstairs, pulled the trusty firearm off the shelf, and went out to the porch. Bracing my elbow on the grill, I sent a 307 round into the little punk’s midsection. A high velocity rifle round hitting a fifteen pound animal 150 yards away is a frightening thing. The racoon was almost disintegrated.

Buouyed by my success at killing small vermin, I took the rifle out with me on my Saturday morning pasture inspection. It seems that two of my groundhog squatters have had litters. The mothers are very wily and disappear down their holes whenever I’m outside, but their young ones have not yet learned. Some never will.

I took four out on Saturday morning. I would shoot one, and then the others would go over to see what had happened. One of them popped about ten feet in the air when the round hit him.

I was only shooting from about forty yards away, but since they were moving targets and were only three or four pounds, I have decided to take pride in my marksmanship.

Five rounds, five varmints.

I’d have done well at Tours. If, you, know, I could have had the modern 3o7 with the zeroed scope.