I grew up with a rifle or shotgun in my grubby jelly stained hands and was one of the most blood thirsty little varmints that ever lived.
We lived almost exclusively on what we hunted or our own chickens, rabbits and hogs. (my mom made the best rabbit and sage gravy)
I would stay in the woods till dead dark on the chance I could get my limit of squirrels. (I ate the heads too) and I'd hunt the beagles till I got my limit or it got too dark to shoot. Quail and pheasant came along only occasionally while rabbit hunting, but often enough that I learned to hit'em. I saw my Dad get an entire small covey of quail one time with one shot. He spotted them in their circle and backed up several yards and shot into the middle of them. He was raising three boys who ate like horses and wanted all that meat. This was circa 1950.
My blood thirstyness kept on through my teen years when I branched out into ducks and geese. I've killed four deer in my life.
Then I aged into my 20s then 30s and so on till here I sit about to turn 78 and if the world record white tail deer stopped to scratch on my pecan tree, I would not have the least desire to kill him.
I still enjoy the woods, and I carry a rifle and pistol, (for snakes) but everything out there is completely safe from me.
So I'm only a loafer. I've had my day. You young whipper snappers can have my share now.