One fine, spring day back in 1995, youngest boy and I took a walk down the tracks. I was telling tales of yesteryear, BB guns and broken glass, when I saw one that I obviously missed during my childhood target practice.

I then held my son up by his ankles so he could unscrew it off the pin. As it turned out, I did hit it with my BB gun 20 years earlier, but it didn't die! Hence the nasty bruise.

Ugly as it is, it sits atop my shelf like a vulture.