My first answer was derived from how I learned to hunt. I was a kid with a Stevens single shot twenty ga. This was the only gun I owned. I'd leave the house early in the morning with shot shells in my right pocket and a few slugs in the left. I would take off across the pasture looking for quail, drop down on the railroad right of way kicking the brush for rabbits, then climb the hill to the back lot to still hunt for squirrel and possibly a deer. Most all of the seasons were open at the same time then. If I ran across a varmint, I was varmint hunting. If a mud duck jumped off of the creek, I was duck hunting. I'd go home when it got dark. Made the awful mistake of shooting a big woodpecker once, my dad made a small fire and roasted that thing into a burnt offering. He made me eat enough of it to make his point; don't shoot anything you don't intend on eating. He asked me afterward what I was thinking, as I was being uncharacteristically quiet. I told him I was glad I didn't shoot a skunk.
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