A B.B. rifle

   Dear Fran,

   Do you know that there was a writer who, as a child, dreamed of owning a B.B. gun to kill sparrows?

That when he finally had it killed a mockingbird and a bobwhite but that he repented and was so ashamed of that that since then he has not killed anything? Could he be called Capote? I heard it on the radio and I don't know if I heard it right.

   Anyway, this story made me remember the days of hunting with my father and the sacrifice of some farm animals. Although for our mitigation I will say that in my family when a hen or a distracted thrush was killed it was for food, not for pleasure. I still do not understand that there are people who go around killing defenceless partridges or unsuspecting rabbits. Dear friend, I do not see any merit in hitting a target four hundred meters away on a shy deer that is eating grass or, on its hind legs, trying to reach some ripe fruit if the bullet that goes through its neck has come out of a rifle with a telescopic sight and the ranger of the preserve has led the ‘hunter’ to the platform designed for the feat.

   On the radio they have also said that the writer, who liked to fish very much, went to the river with a cousin (to whom he was very close) and a dog and that when he hooked a fish he would return it to the water trying to do as little damage as possible.

   I don't know if this was really the case, but I like to think it did.

   Y. a.

   Mary