One in a million

Flickering fires and amber liquid are conducive to storytelling and the dimension of the yarns generally grow in direct proportion to the waning of the flames and increased intake of alcohol. Scotty was once heard to mutter, after enough home-brew rum to kill all the gorse up Deadman’s Gully, that his best shot ever killed two deer standing side-by-side.

“That’s nothing,” boasted Cookie, “I saw three deer standing abreast on one dark one night and I managed to shot two of them with one shot.”

“Huh, what’s so special about that?” guffawed Scotty?

“I shot the first, missed the second because it was a bit skinny, and shot the third,” Cookie cackled.

I thought for a moment, then I had my turn to boast.

“I was once hunting the west coast of the South Island of New Zealand when I shot at a chamois on the skyline above me… and completely missed it.”