couple of years ago, I was given two guineafowl by a wingshooting friend whose wife didn’t know what to do with them, so I got a going on the fire and invited them over to try a gamebird stew. They enjoyed it, and the hubby – I’ll just call him Bob – reminisced about his boyhood when he was forbidden to use his air rifle on anything bigger than doves. “I was walking back to the farmhouse towards evening,” he said, “and passed under a tree. I looked up