Father: Hey son, do you have a .410 shotgun I could borrow. The moles are back in force and a 12 gauge is a bit much.
Me: Indeed I do; would you like a long gun or a pistol you could attach to the John Deere while you’re mowing the lawn?
Father: I prefer a long gun so I can walk up on their holes and shoot them while they’re digging: I can see them pushing up dirt. The shot might not reach them but the percussion wave has a funny way of making them die. Did you end up with Mom’s shotgun?
Me: Yes and no. Grandma left the gun to Mom and then she gave it to me. Do you want me to bring it out to you?
Father: Is it 2.75” or 3” full? I need to know which ammo to buy.
Me: It’s 3” full and I’ll bring you a box of shells with it, you don’t need to buy anything.
Father: Well OK, that would be great. Do you need any firewood?
Me: I’m fine on kindling and Fir but running a bit low on Oak if you have any to spare.
Father: I can hook you up and not even notice.
Me: Cool, I’ll stop by next week and drop off Grandma’s shotgun. It’s the one she used to shoot rattle snakes with basking in the sun under her clothes line.
Father: Oh yeah, I remember that.
4 comments:
Wait... how do you get to the blood running in the streets with this scenario... this doesn't make any sense!!!
:-) Nice. My dad just gave me some of his old guns, including a .22 bolt gun that's killed more squirrels than I'd even care to estimate.
One of the great things about guns is that they're personal, durable legacies to pass on to future generations.
"Dad I'll meet you at the local gunshop which isn't close, or on the way to either of our houses. I have the shells lying around, but if you could swing the $50 transfer fee for doing the paperwork and background check that would be great...I'll make sure to set aside another $50 when you're ready to give it back."
This is the world they're crafting for us.
Gun meh-culture:
Dad: Great to see you son! Thanks for coming over to help with the computer.
Me: No problem. (Reaches out to shake hand.)
Dad: (Placing off hand on my left hip.) What the hell is that?
Me: Uh, um. My gun.
Dad: Your what?
Me: My gun.
Dad: (Slightly puzzled look.) Oh. Okay. . . . well, the computer's this way. How are my grandkids?
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