The only time I had the opportunity to go 'doggin' was on uncle's sizable Sask. wheat/dairy farm as a wee laddy. 'Dogs created a serious problem when they started encroaching on the cattle pasture where a milk-laden Jersey could sink into a burrow maze and break a leg. After a short spell wielding his old .22 JC Higgins turnbolt with irons, I was rolling them as they ran between hidey-holes and capping them as they popped up, prompting celebratory whoops and hollers from my father and uncle after ghosting one town after another. Fond memories.... Unless you were a 'dog....
'22 is cheating with that rig! *grin*