I sat on a sunlit hillside one summer's evening, the rifle up at my shoulder

There was a beautiful cock pheasant strutting it's stuff on a further hilltop - a dust covered field of stubble from the recent wheat cropping.

In the middle distance ran a road through the throat of the valley. A minor class road with a few bushes and trees along its borders. There were a few cars runing slowly from a to b.

My rifle had a kill humans range of about a mile, maybe a mile and a quarter on a good day.

Pheasant or car?

I fired at the pheasant and whipped the dust at his feet. He flew.

I turned and dropped my aim to the road below.

I fired