Out door games we played.

And I thought my friends and I were the only ones dumb enough to do that! BB gun wars- 2 pump rule on Crossman/Shermans... Daisies weren't an issue. We wore cycle helmets/ goggles and heavy denim jackets. Three shots to the body or one to the head and you had to go to the "dead zone" for ten or fifteen minutes- we usualy used that time to reload. I had a Daisy that held about a hundred BBs in a tube under the barrel, and that thing got so worn out that BBs would just roll out of the barrel if you ever aimed downward... Used to buy BBs in a gallon jug down at the Trading Post...

I don't know about Sherman's, as those things are pretty strong.
I had an all brass Benjamin with the pump rod that pulled straight out the front, and then put it on the toe of your boot and push it back in.
That thing would kill birds with one pump.

When I was around 14 I had a bunch of cars and trucks, and I would take my Ford Ranch Wagon out into the desert-ish part of the area I lived in to hunt Jackrabbits.
I had everything from a 6.5mm Japanese rifle (Dad called it the Jap6-5, 300 Savage, shotguns, a Ruger1022 and my Crossman, but the Crossman was my favorite for the Jackrabbits.
I would pick out a rabbit and trot after him, keeping him moving and eventually he would tire out and I could get him.
Then pick out another one, and do that all day long.

Lots of times I would look back where the wagon was parked and there would be the Sheriff sitting there in his car. (John Martin was his name)
Once I saw him sitting there I would start walking back to the wagon, and when I got there he would tell me to put the Crossman in the back and get in.
On the way home he would tell me he knew I wasn't old enough to drive and ask "how many times he had to come and get me"

Well, he would take me home and drop me off but as soon as he was gone I would get on my dirtbike and go back to get the wagon.
I would drag the bike into the back and drive home.
He asked me a few times how the wagon got back and I would just say it was like the dog and knows where it lives.
He would just smile and tell me I shouldn't be driving.

Well after hiking the mountains all the time and running down Jackrabbits, when I went into the military I was in pretty good shape.
Those trotting 6-8 mile marches at 4 in the morning were nothing to me, when other guys were choking and hacking and whining.:D
25 years later I went back to the town I lived in to look him up and say hi.
Sheriff John Martin had died from Lou Gehrig's disease.:(

Some day I'll tell you guys about Squirrel fishing.
That's frickin hilarious.