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Ah, the joys of getting older. If we're lucky, the kids are out of the house. There's a bit more disposable in- come. We aren't bothered by a lot of the little things anymore. Like the other day . . . I've got one left in the nest. She walked in the door, gave me that teenager look and said, "Can't you hear that alarm clock?" I hadn't been bothered by it a bit. My wife is bothered by the dogs barking at night. Not me. She worries about little noises the car makes. Runs like a kitten. No, sir, you and I aren't bothered by a lot of those little things.
For most of us, the abuse started when we were much younger, back when real men didn't plug their ears. We didn't plug our ears because there weren't any ear plugs around, if for no other reason. Add the damage done shooting to the normal degradation that time brings, and we are a happy bunch of hunters and shooters who just have a hard time hearing speech in crowded rooms and annoying little sounds. We all know better now and wear some form of hearing protection any time we shoot. Well, at least the clay shooters do. There are still some hunters out there hammering their hair cells once or twice a bird.

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