There have been several shootings on the Ray farm since the beginning of our line. Two come to mind, so here is the first: About 1920 my father’s older brother, J.K Ray, had an intense dislike of ravens. They were a big pest. A raven never minded its own business, always into something. One of its major sins was to find the nicest watermelon of the patch and peck a hole into it. One bright morning, J.K looked out the window and saw a raven sitting on a windmill tower, looking for mischief. J.K grabbed a snub nose .38 and set a course ...