50 plus years ago I was stationed in North Florida, gunning doves with a Naval Officer I worked with. He was a competition trap and skeet shooter, had two excellent German Shorthairs, and an arsenal of costly shotguns. A superb wing shot. The funny thing is his very real last name was Woodcock.
I had an Ithaca Featherweight 16 and a dog that was part Lab and the rest of her came from a lower middle class neighborhood. She was a great retriever though.
The doves were flying hot and heavy that afternoon. We were burning ammo, and the dogs were working hard. I pulled on a dove on a spent shell, and Woody saw me flinch. He handed me his car keys and said "Go get what's in the trunk" The trunk held a spare tire, a .410 single shot and a box of shells. I figured he didn't want the spare tire so I brought the gun and ammo. By the end of the day I was holding my own with him knocking down birds.
That began the romance of the single shot, through traditional caplocks and flintlocks, and pistols, Toppers, F.I.E. Brazilians, and now Handis, Huntsman and Pardners.
Woody opened the door to a whole new shooting world for me. This Christmas, one of my grand kids is getting an old 12 ga. Topper. He may want something fancier now, but I'll bet in few years he'll be glad he got it. I still cherish mine.
Start a kid with a single shot this Christmas.
Merry Christmas, all of you good people.
Pete