No chin guards for me. I just knocked out a couple of teeth for the hockey look. My husband, Mockingbird, has a little KHB from Elk Ridge that he is fond of. That bow will make me run for the arm guard. Mockingbird is a real man, though. He shot with me last weekend and never went into his quiver for the guard.
His bruises are awesome works of swirling, ever-changing colors that will evolve for over a week. Van Gogh could never dream such. Maybe Timothy Leary could. I think that the welts are a rite of passage, something we all go through and share. They bind us together into a special little community, kinda like ritual scarring of warrior societies. OK, maybe not.
Killdeer