I grew up out in the country and my Dad farmed a little along with his other business. When I was about 12 he asked me to drive him in his pick up down the road to the bean field, which was being wrecked by some groundhogs. He had a .35 caliber Remington rifle with some copper jacketed, lead filled bullets. I drove him there (about 3/4 mile) as he watched out the window. He told me to stop, and aimed. I saw the groundhog and he saw us, but that's the last thing he saw. Dad shot and the groundhog literally exploded. I'm dead serious, there was nothing left to find, but his tail. That gun scared me for the rest of my days until I inherited it and did finally shoot it one time after I sold it to my friend.