Paddy had always enjoyed clay pigeon shooting. In fact, he was something of the local champion. His nine-year old son, Charlie, was a great help too. Charlie would sit in a ditch on the farm and pull the clay pigeon trap, shooting the clay pigeons into the air at different adjusted angles and heights. Paddy would stand back at quite a distance and shoot each clay pigeon as it suddenly flew unpredictably into the sky. Paddy practiced clay pigeon shooting usually a couple of times a week.
On this particular occasion young Charlie had just over thirty clay pigeons to fire into the air. His father missed hitting only two of them. All the others were successfully blown to smithereens.
When he ran out of clay pigeons to fire into the air, Charlie popped up from the protective ditch to tell his father that the clay pigeons were all used up, and quick-reflex Paddy blew his son’s head off.
Weave a Web 
Oh dear, Charlie was much too good at his job….
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Yes, it’s doesn’t pay to be too good at what we do.
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And now, there are 29. 😦
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You are an astute mathematician!
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I had to borrow my neighbour’s fingers and toes.
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I hope he is young and handsome!
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I hate when that happens.
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😀 Yeah and with the price these days of bullets…
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For sure. And after the second or third time it becomes really difficult to convince the sheriff it was an accident.
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Reminds me of when I lived in North Carolina – and just down the road were two families with a 100 year old feud over a pig. The guy was dead with 24 bullet holes in his back, and the sheriff said it was the worst case of suicide he’d seen.
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Ha! That’s a helluva way to go.
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The story progressed faithfully to the eminently logical conclusion. The element of interest therefore derived it’s sparkle wholly from the might of the pen.
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That is very kind indeed, Uma. I’m losing the touch of unpredictability however (I think).
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I think not.
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Love to read meself a good traditional tale on this blog.
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There are those born to follow traditions, and those born to create them!
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True, Sir! 😉
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I know what I’ll be reading this winter…these are awesome. I have a dark sense of humor and I started to laugh and woke the wife up.
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Bloomin heck – I hope the wife… oh doesn’t matter… Just think – I’ll be potting around in my southern hemisphere summer garden and you’ll be tucked up reading through the winter. It’s a wonderful world!
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