On my sixth Christmas my cousins all got bb guns. I got a new homemade shirt and a new ax to cut wood with. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.
One of my uncle’s girlfriends gave me an old Red Ryder bb gun that she had as a child. Life was good!
I can’t tell you of how many invasions by the tin can nation, I saved our country from. Gotta watch them sneaky critters as they mass silently then attack with no warning. : )
With my trusty Red Ryder I feared no evil and would skulk the underbrush for hours on end, always on guard against tin can attack.
One day as I lay concealed I saw my grandmother heading for the clothesline with an aluminum wash pan of wet clothes under her arm. I knew that once the pan was empty it would attack her and chomp her into so much Injun goo. I waited and watched.
When the last shirt was on the line, she picked up the pan and apparently in a good mood, skipped a little as she went back toward the house, swinging the pan behind her as she went.
Mentally adjusting for windage, elevation and the swing of the pan, I took aim and fired!
My grandmother yelped in pain and rage! Turning on her grandkid radar she wheeled around and zeroed right in to where I was hidden.
When it came to my grandmother I believed in the old adage “He who shoots Granny in the butt, then runs away, lives to shoot another day!” I left my position.
I cut across an open space thinking to put a few hundred miles between me and home for the rest of the day. half way across, the piece of firewood comes from out of nowhere and I’m suddenly eating dirt. I imagine that dirt might not be too bad with plenty of seasoning, but plain dirt tastes like … well, dirt !
I didn’t lose my gun nor get switch and the lump on my head only lasted a few days. Not bad, as it helped keep my hat on in the wind. So I guess I got off lucky. : )