During hunting season I was on the Gallia County Farm, where my step-grandfather Clarence was allowing several hunters to hunt. They had spread out all over the Farm shooting all kinds of animals. I was quite upset because I hated to see all the animals being shot. Looking out from the rear of the Farmhouse, I noticed one hunter (about 30 years old) shooting birds out of trees and off telephone wires. I thought I saw a dead bird hanging from one of the telephone wires, but then it flew away. I also thought I saw a mockingbird on the wire. Finally unable to stand it any longer, I approached the hunter and in front of Clarence I said, "Just what kind of birds are you shooting? You just shot that Omingeti."

I then walked over to pick up one of the birds, and found what I thought was a wine bottle with a picture of a bird on it. But when I picked it up, I saw that it was actually a large bird, about a half meter long, which looked as if it had been shot through the neck. It was still alive and appeared to still be healthy. I ran back over to the back porch and laid it down on the porch. I then wrenched the gun away from the man who had shot the bird and said, "You're going to get off this land. You're not ever going to come back."

With him he also had a sack which contained some hot-dogs and hamburgers. I began smashing the hamburgers with the butt end of the gun and told him I never wanted to see him back around here. Finally he left.

I then directed my attention to the big bird again. At first it had had a large beak, but now the beak was gone and it looked like a large white cat, which I began petting. I thought it was a good sign when it began to purr. I said to Clarence, "Do you think there's any way we can save it."

I was unsure, but I thought if we took it to a vet and had the bullet removed, it might survive.