Shoot some skeet if you’re feeling like a crack shot

I shot at a lot of clay pigeons when I was a kid, but I never did it at an organized trap or skeet club.

And I’ve shot at a lot of birds, both upland and waterfowl.

I may not have been born with a shotgun in my hand, but I picked one up not long after I learned to walk, and I’d have to say I’ve shouldered a scattergun more often than the average human.

But I’ve only shot skeet a couple of times in my life. The most recent was Sunday. And even though I’ve had a couple of nights to sleep off the aftereffects of three rounds, it still stings. Not my shoulder. My pride.

As I said, I’ve spent a pretty good amount of time packing a shotgun. In that time, I feel as though I’ve become pretty good with it. Not a dead-eye or a sure-shot, by any means, but pretty good anyway.

And then I went to the skeet range.

I shot three rounds Sunday, and on the first, I think I missed more targets than I hit. I couldn’t say for sure, because I lost count of missed birds pretty quickly.

I started off strong. Standing at the first station, I called for my target from the high house behind me. When it came into view, I smoked it. But that’s the last one I remember hitting on my first round for quite some time.

By the second round, I was hitting more than I was missing, but not by much. It was frustrating. But I was determined to end on a better round, so I stepped up again.

On the third round, I missed eight out of twenty-five. I was breaking quite a few targets between misses, so I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then I started counting up the misses the other guys had. All three of the other shooters on the skeet range at that time had a grand total of five or six misses. When I realized I was missing more than all the other guys combined, the old ego took another gut-slug.

So when you’re feeling like the big man on campus, just buy a round at the local skeet club. It’ll bring your feet back to Earth in a hurry.