I got one of the plastic-stocked equivalents to a Red Ryder, the Christmas that I was 8. The following year, my brother was 8, I was 9, and we both got 94s.
This was in the Congo (Kinshasa side). One night, brother and I had been fed early and sent to the room to play, because my parents were having a formal dinner for coworkers, bosses, and bigwigs. We were hanging out in the room, playing, and my mother appeared in the doorway, looking mad. Uh-oh.
"[3fgburner], come out here. And bring your BB gun."
Forth came I, the Great White hunter in jammies, with BB gun. My mother pointed at the chandelier.
"Get that THING off of there!"
I took careful aim, making sure I had an angle of fire that wouldn't get a light bulb. A slow and steady trigger squeeze, and a quickly-deceased gecko flew of the chandelier, and plopped on the floor on the other side of the dining table. I picked it up, and asked why Mom was mad as we went to throw it away. Seems that she'd just brought our big china tureen, full of soup for the first course. Just as she lifted the lid, to begin serving, the gecko had crapped in the tureen. Scratch one gecko.