No squirrel hunting where I grew up in western Kansas (ya gotta have trees for that
) and my dad said he ate so much rabbit during the depression that he never wanted to eat another one. So this Winchester 61 shown below got used mostly for plinking rats at the little dump that was a mile or so down the back road from our house, or prairie dogs, and there were numerous prairie dog towns around. Never ate them though. My dad was kind of a different sort of fella; there were always a couple of boxes of .22 shells in his top dresser drawer; I'd take one, and when I used it up and needed more I always found them replenished. Yet he never just gave me a box. It was the same with shotgun shells when I started taking his old Savage autoloader out.
Anyway, this rifle was pretty much my constant companion along with Nip, our little Manchester terrier back in the days when a boy could just roam around with a gun and nobody cared. And yeah, it's still in the rack...
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