took him back to his tenth birthday, when his father had decided to ‘make him a man.’ Long story short, he had learned three things that day. One, if you were going to kill your dinner, it was much less traumatic to kill it with your first shot. Two, his mother did not find it amusing to see her son with dried blood splattered all over his face, hair and clothes; and three, cutting flesh was a good deal harder when it hadn’t been cooked yet.
