On a charity hunt once, our party wound up surrounding a patch of cover—honestly, it was a situation the guide shouldn’t have permitted—and a rooster flushed and flew right at me. I had a clear shot with no one behind the bird, but as I was raising my gun, another hunter across from me killed it. The bird fell practically at my feet. I waited until I had a chance to talk to him alone and said, “That shot was a little close to me.” He looked horror-stricken. In his mind, I guess, he hadn’t done anything wrong.