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There's a fine line between boars and boors. Be mindful, darling.

We have wild hogs running amuck at the ranch. Horrid creatures. Please, I beg of your friend, come down to Texas and shoot them all.

To my mind, the American equivalent of fox hunting is the pheasant shoot. A dead pheasant slung over one's arm makes for a much more pleasant photograph; plus, you have a fine dinner entree in hand.

But in the fashion world, a good pair of riding boots, an English saddle (Herm├ęs of course), a fine steed, carry a lot of...ooomph, the occasional embarrassing spill by a certain crown prince not withstanding.

I myself am a no-guns, no-kill person; but I was raised by great hunters and don't judge those who enjoy it. Hunting seems to have come into vogue, very modish, definitely trending upward. Hunting done well is a ceremony, very involved and ultimately human.

"She/he is a great shot," is still something to aspire to. And quite the convenient skill for female bombshells and male playwrights. "He had it coming."

Lauren, may I offer an editorial sidebar? Speaking of guns, I notice your prose is shot through with commas, a personal preference, I suppose. You could omit at least nine commas in the above post with no loss of meaning. And now I'm the boor.

My prose, on the other hand seems to have been lately infested by semi-colons. They're like fleas. Where there's one, there's sure to be a hundred more.

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