My first was a chick I got from somewhere,cant even remember what bird it was,but my mum was a tyrant,so I snuck it up to my bedroom,intending to rear it by hand,Which I duly did with wet bread and a matchstick. Going to bed that night,the chick startd,cheep,cheep,cheep,cheep,cheep,so,aware of my responsibilties for my new little friend,I got up,slowly and ever so gently lifted it out of the box of cottonwool,gently stroking its head,threw it out of the window,aahhh,peace at last.
The myth comes from the believe that the robin before it had its red breast,used to take water in its beak to the wounded soldiers in the trenches during the 1st world war,which its said is how it got its red breast(from the blood)so to kill a robin would deprive a dying soldier of water,hence the bad luck to kill one.
my first kill was a duck which my father had shot, but needed to be despatched, years later he told me all he could see was a boy swinging a wigeon by the neck trying his hardest to break it, and i beat the dog to the retrive !!! how keen was i !!
the first thing i killed was a vole i used to set milk bottles in the ground at a angle with some bread as bait, i look back and i used to do some bdooly cruel things
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