Guns and Hunting

Recently (this week) I brought up the fact that I own guns. I am sure to many of you this is a distasteful idea. But you must remember I am from an older generation when guns and hunting was the norm, not the exception.

For example, my oldest brother George used to trap muskrats in the Clinton River for spending money. I can still see his traps hanging, gleaming in the garage. Nowadays, I suppose that a leg trap would be considered barbaric, but it was common place when I was a lad.

My father went deer hunting every year and, for some time, owned a share in a deer camp in the Michigan Upper Peninsula. I can still remember the excitement when he got ready and left.

I was about seven years old when my brother Peter gave me my first gun, a 22 caliber rifle I still have today. It no longer had its clip and the extractor was useless, so you had to insert the cartridge by hand and then dig it out with a small screwdriver. And, the front sight was messed up, so at any distance, you had to aim about one inch low and one inch to the left to hit your target, but I loved it. I still do...

I took it to a gun shop once to get it fixed and they just laughed at me. They said for what it would cost to fix it, I could buy two new 22 automatics. But, they didn't understand, my brother Peter gave me that!

I used it for years in what was known as "plinking." Which was basically shooting birds, squirrels and raccoons for sport, not to eat. I regret that now, (hell, I feed the birds and squirrels, currently) but, as I say, it was normal, back then.

Every fall, folks would come to the farm and ask if they could go pheasant hunting. We always said yes and they would head out with
their shotguns and dogs and, sometimes, would give my Mother an extra pheasant they had got for our dinner.

One older gentleman always seems to come back with a bird or two, so I asked him his secret. He asked if I had a gun and I said, "Yes!" So, he offered to take me with him.

So, I grabbed the 22 and a pocketful of cartridges and we headed out. Instead of slowly walking the fields, like the hunter's I'd observed, we marched to the crick, (yeah, we called it a crick rather than the proper name, a "creek,") crossed over the bridge and stopped in front of the woods. He sat down on the west side of the property and told me to go to the very east side, which I did.

But, before leaving, I asked him why we didn't work the fields, like most hunters and their dogs did. He told me that any pheasants they scared up and didn't hit would fly towards the woods and safety and that's where we would take them.

And, sure enough, it was true! Now, I confess, I didn't take any that day, although I had a couple of shots. But, a rifle isn't a shotgun and they were flying too fast for me. But, he got two and gave my mother one, so it was a good day!

Sidebar #1: Once in my 20's when I was living above the garage in my apartment at the old homestead, my friend B___, his brother and I went out back to shoot some skeet. I took my old 22 but, since I didn't have a shotgun, I was relegated to just throwing the clay pigeons. At one point, Bob, B__'s brother, chided me and suggested I try my hand. So, he threw up the clay pigeon and I, with my 22, burst it into pieces! They both encouraged me to try again, but I knew it was just damn luck, so I deferred.

Sidebar #2: When I told my friend B___ about the incident this week, he gave me hell! According to him, I should have (A) got my gun, called 911 and just made sure they didn't come inside (apparently, you can't shoot people outside without it becoming a problem). (B) If I was stupid enough to go outside, I should have stepped into the darkness, rather than standing in the light. And, (C) I should know that if they did have bad intentions and a revolver or semi-automatic pistol, I couldn't have fired and reloaded my single-shot shotgun fast enough (I dispute that, as I have practiced and can reload and fire in less than two seconds).

Sigh, its a different world these days...