I guess I should start with the gun story that evolved into the hunting story that evolved into the shotgun story. I don't know where all of these stories really came from, but here goes.
In I guess January of this year, I decided that I wanted to learn how to shoot a gun. Me in January, "Guns are big and scary. They kill people. They are super powerful. They are too dangerous for a girl like me."
I psyched myself out.
Am I smarter than a gun? Couldn't a girlie girl like me load one, aim it, and pull the trigger? Surely I could do this. I don't know why I wanted to do it in the first place, but for some reason, I actually followed through with my pursuit to shoot.
I made a date with my Dad to go to the local indoor shooting range. My Dad has guns and he has them everywhere-under beds, in drawers throughout the house, on top of bowling ball bags... I guess they're unloaded. I never knew how to check so I've always ignored them. Not any more!
My Dad immediately agreed to take me, his oldest daughter, the super feminine one who won't bait a hook or touch the fish she catches on the pre-baited hook, to fire weapons. I say weapons now, but will later be told in hunter education class that a revolver is a revolver or a fire arm. I'm not even sure if weapons exist. Maybe bombs are weapons. All I know is that guns aren't weapons.
It is February and my Dad brings a 9 mm Glock and a .357 Colt revolver over. For me and the .357 it is love at first sight. It is everything that a gun should be. I loved that it was so big and heavy. A gun shouldn't be small and light-that would be a TOY gun not a REAL gun. I loved how it felt in my dainty untried hands. I loved how loud it was. I loved loading the revolver. Magazines are a pain and time consuming. With the beloved Colt, toss 6 rounds in and go! It was easier to aim and fire than the stupid Glock. The Glock and I have since made up and I don't despise it anymore although we still banter back and forth on trigger pressure.
Eric accompanied me and my Dad at my request. My Dad's friend's son had just been seriously wounded in Iraq and my Dad didn't want to shoot a gun at that time. He didn't mind standing next to me while I fired a gun, but he said he would pass. My Dad and his friend are both Vietnam Vets and are still haunted by their experiences so this all made perfect sense to me.
Oh, I almost forgot this part. I tried to get out of going the day before our gun date. I had been on the range's website and was convinced that I would completely suck at shooting and accidentally shoot other people's targets and reak havoc and damage (havoc and damage at a shooting range?). My Dad and Eric were not letting me off so easy. Trust in my ability...
We went. I shot pretty darn well and we had fun. We had the beginnings of a new husband/wife hobby.
Eric and I continued going to the range. After shooting 50 rounds in the .357, my hands were fatigued. I loved it though. This all happened in February. I then started looking for a hunter education class. Yes, the girl who wouldn't touch a worm or fish was going to get her license to hunt game and learn how to field dress it. That makes perfect grandgirl sense.
I found a class and for three days in March, I learned the contents of the Hunter Education Booklet. The instructors were amazing. They were all volunteers who loved hunting so much that they taught people like me about everything hunting related. They had many personal stories to share. It was a really interesting experience.
I learned the 10 commandments of firearm safety. I learned that only 5 percent of the population actually hunt, another 5 percent actively oppose it, and 90 percent just don't care. Just like how guns are guns or firearms and not weapons, I also learned that hunting accidents were not accidents, they were incidents.
I hadn't taken a test in a long time and this hunter education test was making me worry. I didn't grow up in a hunting family. My husband wasn't a hunter. It seemed like I was surrounded by either children with their hunter fathers or young women who were married to hunters. I was the odd ball of the group. I always feel like the odd ball. I studied and memorized that book. I passed my first time. I didn't get a 100, but I passed. I still haven't gone hunting. I want to. I just need to find the right person to take me. I think there are programs where a mentor will take you out hunting for the first time, but I don't think I would feel comfortable with a stranger.
I was officially licensed to kill. I can't help saying that. It's fun! I'm sure the hunter's vocabulary police would take offense at my choice of words. I decided that if I was going to hunt, I would need experience with something other than the handguns I had grown so fond of. I decided I should get some experience with a rifle or shotgun. I found a free women's shotgun class at a different shooting range. I signed up and went. There were 3 or 4 Olympic certified shooting instructors teaching the class. I thought it would be like the hunter education class-take notes and listen to lectures. I was slightly horrified to learn that I was going to actually have to shoot a shotgun (for the first time) in front of these experts plus a class of complete strangers. I wasn't only shooting a shotgun, but pointing (not aiming) it at clay birds that were traveling to and fro. I hit one. I don't know how I hit it, but I did. I wasn't a complete loser after all.
I have been back to shoot trap with Eric. He had some practice doing it back in Boy Scouts. He is pretty decent and I am getting better. Again, I don't know how exactly I'm managing to improve, but I am. I still don't like that a bunch of strangers can sit around and watch me miss and listen to me cuss.
Eric and I were getting ready to celebrate our nine year wedding anniversary. It comes just a few weeks before Mother's Day. This year it fell on a Thursday. Eric decides to make a big deal out of our special day. He informs me that he is taking off of work and that we are going to spend the day together. Most wives would be excited, I was suspicious.
He came to me week after week, with a new idea on how we could spend the day. Food and shopping were his plan. At first we were going to a new restaurant and then to a vintage clothing shop. He just kept coming up with new ideas. He asked me over and over, "What do YOU want to do?" I just said, "Whatever. I don't care." Finally, the day before our anniversary, he asks me, "How would you like a shotgun for a anniversary/Mother's Day present? This is exactly what I wanted! Eric is pretty used to having to play mind reader with me to figure out what I want, what is wrong, etc.
We made a list of all of the sporting goods stores that we would visit that day. We had done a lot of on-line research plus I had learned some things from my classes. I was excited. We started our day close to home. We looked and asked questions. We held LOTS of guns. It looked like purchasing a used gun might be a good choice. We made our way down the highway to the big sporting goods stores.
We ended up at Cabela's. They had a large display of used guns right in front of their impressive gun library. The man working in the library came over and asked if he could help us. This man was a lot of fun. Gun enthusiasts-I just love them.
Eric told him what I liked and we had a long conversation. I still wasn't sure what the deal was with the length of the barrel. He explained it to us. He then asked me how tall I was. I told him 5'3". He then proceeded over to the youth models. He asked me to hold one and see how it fit. Gun fit is extremely important-right after its prettiness. It fit. I handed it back. Eric and the man started talking about the youth model. I interrupted them, saying to the man, "Are you telling me that you think I should buy a youth gun?" "Yes," he says. Let me just say here that I am a quiet, slightly shy, non-confrontational, non-assertive person. All that changed with his, "Yes". Without thinking, I said, "Sir, I am not a child. I am a woman." He looked at me blankly and before he could respond, Eric says, "Well actually honey, you're more like a large boy." Now it was my turn to look blankly.
It took me about five long seconds to decide if I was going to laugh or punch Eric. I laughed. He laughed. I still think the experience is quite funny. We ended up purchasing a Remington 870 Wingmaster. It is soo pretty-wood with checkering and Fleur-di-lis on it. It fits, too.
Since its purchase, Eric and I have had quite a few outings to the range. My shotgun has left its mark on my shoulder. For some reason, a bruise from a shotgun doesn't bother me. I probably need to buy a shooting vest, but I am afraid that if I show up to the range wearing it, somebody might actually think that I know what I'm doing and I don't want to confuse the people! I point it, swing-through, tap the trigger, and sometimes, occasionally, blow a clay bird into bits. I love when that happens, but then I always ask myself, "How did I do that?".
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