I’ve been bird hunting for over 50 years and know a score of hunters, none of whom has ever shot anyone. The best hunter we know around here is a Coupeville logger named Bobby Bailey, who many of us consider our Daniel Boone. I asked him if Dick Cheney’s explanation of how he shot Harry Whittington made any sense.

He chewed on the question: “The shot came from a small 28 gauge gun with a three-quarter ounce load. They don’t even make a magnum for it . . . let’s see, birdshot from that distance passing from Mr. Whittington’s side through the sternum — that’s skin and blubber — and into the heart muscle . . . seems like quite a long stretch to me. But, heck, I don’t know. Why don’t you hang a roast in a tree and test it?”

So I did. My gun, a 20 gauge, is a step larger than Cheney’s and shoots a shell packed with 25 percent more shot and powder. Reports have Whittington wearing, besides the fluorescent orange vest, a shirt and light jacket.

I only put one shirt on “Chuck Roast.” I shoot from exactly 30 yards, at which point the shot has lost half its energy. Result: Six pellets leave marks on the shirt, but only two enter the roast, and then only about one-eighth inch.

Whittington was hit at least seven times on the face, more pellets hit his shooting glasses with enough force to blacken both eyes, and other shot went into his neck, right shoulder and rib cage. The doctors said that between seven and 200 birdshots remain in his body.

All the ballistic evidence — penetration, pattern tightness, and number of shot — strongly argues that the vice president was considerably closer than 30 yards from Mr. Whittington.

Here’s a more realistic scenario for what really happened, taken from more than a dozen sources. The bobwhites flush. Pam Willeford and Cheney each get one. Harry Whittington hits a double.

Moments later, according to Willeford, a second covey flushes. Cheney swings to his right and behind him, 180 degrees, he doesn’t see Whittington in flame-orange vest and flame-orange cap and fires, hitting him so hard that Harry is knocked flat on his back. The distance is less than 30 feet.

The rest of the story is not disputed. Everyone converges on the victim. Cheney limps over and says: “Harry, I had no idea you were there.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

From 100 yards to the rear, ranch hostess and lobbyist Katharine Armstrong, who would later claim to be an eye-witness, comes up from the jeep. As do the Secret Service and Cheney’s physician’s assistants.

They wrap Harry in blankets to avert shock, load him in the VP’s ambulance, three of the party jump in, but not Cheney, and off it goes to Kingsville Hospital.

An aide to the vice president immediately calls the national security situation room and is patched through to Andrew Card, White House Chief of Staff, who calls Karl Rove.

Armstrong and Cheney head back to the ranch and take Rove’s call.

Local county deputy Captain Charles Kirk, who hears about the accident on his scanner, is prevented from entering the ranch.

Sheriff Ramon Salinas III calls a former deputy, Romero Medellin, now working on the ranch and is told it’s a minor accident. The Secret Service calls Salinas and he agrees to interview Cheney the following morning.

The victim arrives at the Kingsville hospital where physicians take a quick look and immediately air-ambulance him to the trauma center at Corpus Christus Memorial Hospital.

A doctor there says later, “We knew from the get-go that Whittington had some birdshot near his heart.”

Armstrong, Cheney and the remaining guests have a roast beef dinner, and Armstrong says, retire for the night about 11.

At eight the next morning the Chief Sheriff Deputy Gilbert San Miguel is let in the gate, searched and escorted to Cheney, who shakes his hand.

“He was very, very disturbed,” San Miguel says.

On the third try, after 11 a.m., ranch owner Armstrong reaches a Corpus Christi Caller Times reporter she trusts and tells this story: Whittington, she says, was sprayed by itty-bitty pellets after he didn’t do what he was suppose to do. He failed to announce he was returning to the group. But, now, he’s fine, sitting up and laughing.

She says such birdshot sprayings are frequent occurrences. (According to the Texas Wildlife Department, they happen every year to one in 26,250 license holders.)

The story is out at 1:48 p.m., Sunday. Trouble is, according to Chuck Roast, it’s a lot of bull.

Thom Gunn is a writer and hunter who lives in Greenbank