By Edgar Castillo
Now that the dove opener is officially behind us, it’s a good bet there are a few participants that physically felt the spent shot from high-angle or distant pass-shooting. Hopefully these “light” sprinkles of lead or steel rained down harmlessly. Though there is nothing funny about being peppered with No. 7 ½ bird shot, it routinely elicits a few annoying and nervous chuckles. Falling or stray birdshot can be seen as a rite of passage and has been a presence since people started organizing known dove shoots over a 130 years ago.
The first known treatise on dove hunting came from an October 1895 reprinted article from an anonymous writer in a San Antonio, TX newspaper, that originally was published in a German-language magazine. It was reported that “hundreds and thousands of wild doves came flying from all directions … into the sunflower and millet fields, and watering holes … where they delighted the hunters’ hearts with ample shooting …”
Two years later, the same gazette noted that a “party of gentlemen” had gathered and killed some 80 doves. Though there is no known documentation or hint of shooters being exposed to propelled BBs, it’s highly likely someone felt metal pellets being fired in their direction from across the field.
Coming in Hot
Fast forward into the near mid-20th century, and you’ll find a dove hunting story about a young Texas lad, named Edwin H. Cooper, that was chronicled in his self-published memoir. In the tale, Cooper shares that during an afternoon in the early 1940s, he and his friends had gone hunting somewhere in the San Marcos region.
A father to one of the boys, a local butcher, had either volunteered or drew the short straw, to act as the only adult chaperone to the small group of shotgun-toting youngsters. The dad, being the most experienced hunter, took a seat on a wooden barrel beneath a tree. It gave him an 180-degree view of the property and the juvenile wards he was to watch over.
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The gaggle of armed boys took up positions surrounding a nearby stock tank filled with water—that hopefully brought flocks of doves in for an evening drink. Cooper and the butcher’s son found a spot next to each other on the opposite side. Shells were quickly loaded into a mix of old pump-action repeaters and single-shots, and all eyes became transfixed towards the sky.
Hardly a minute passed before a dove whizzed by. Detecting danger, the dove erratically dipped before leveling out just above the ground to make its escape. From the moment Cooper saw the bird, his peripheral locked onto his friend’s movement. Seeing the barrel rise, he instantly sensed trouble and immediately warned his friend not to shoot. However, the tunnel-visioned boy continued to swing and pulled the trigger. The boy’s pa, noticing the commotion, realized he was in his son’s line of fire, and dropped to the ground.
Boom!
Taking a Dick Cheney to the Rump Roast
Despite the butcher’s attempt to quickly remove himself from his perch, his derrière remained exposed. The tattered blue jeans took the brunt of the shot string blast. The impact pushed him head-over-heels.
With the boys’ help, the injured man made his way to his vehicle. Once behind the steering wheel, he drove to a small hospital in Blanco, over 35 miles away. Upon arrival, seeing that it was a gunshot wound, nurses quickly whisked the man into a room. The boys followed. With a wide-eyed audience, the doctor carefully removed pellets from the man’s riddled posterior. Each little piece of lead made a pinging sound as the physician dropped it into a small metal bowl, before probing for the next pellet. This went on two-dozen times.
When the last BB had been removed, the doctor casually informed the man it was time to settle up the bill. It should be noted that back then, a person receiving medical treatment did not simply hand over a plastic insurance card or rely on some healthcare service to cover the tab—rural doctors expected to be paid the old-fashioned way, with either bartered farm goods, check, or cash. This particular doc expected the latter.
“That’ll be $24 dollars.”
Remember, 24 bucks was considered a significant sum during that period, and in modern times would be equivalent to over $400 greenbacks. Startled, the man asked how he had come to that figure. The doctor nonchalantly explained that his standard fee for shotgun wounds was $1 dollar per pellet extracted.
