I am reminded of a story my Dad tells from time to time. My Great Grandfather horse traded for a rifle and wanted to try it out, but it was raining and he didn’t feel like standing outside.
The farmhouse had a central hallway from the front door to the back door and he pinned a target onto an oak in the backyard.
He set up on the front porch and fired a few rounds through the house.
I’m told that it went something like this(in heavy Yankee accent):
“Okay - everybody sit still!” BOOM.
“How was that?” “A little low ya say?”
“Nodody move!” BOOM.
One of the last times I visted my grandmother’s house I noticed that her elk painting (she was an artist and this was Idaho) had a hole where the elk’s heart would be. She smiled and said, “Oh, your father did that. He was practicing his snap shooting—he was always such a good shot.”
“I am reminded of a story my Dad tells from time to time. My Great Grandfather horse traded for a rifle and wanted to try it out, but it was raining and he didn’t feel like standing outside. The farmhouse had a central hallway from the front door to the back door and he pinned a target onto an oak in the backyard. He set up on the front porch and fired a few rounds through the house.”
That’s where the phrase “shotgun shack” comes from. Its a house so small you could shoot a shotgun from the front door through the backdoor without hitting anything.