As I am having my morning coffee and orange juice, I hear this soft thud sound. The wind is blowing gently. I look on the deck to see if something is blowing or falling down. As I look through the trees I see a car in the back. Oh, it is target practice again. Our neighbor's sons and his friends are having their target practice. The shooting range fortunately is not directed toward our house. Actually they are great neighbors. I don't mind the poof, poof sound. But they have put together several bullets that make such a loud noise that I jump. Men and their toys. Once a neighbor called to ask if our house had exploded.
The only time I fired a gun was on the farm when I was a teenager. For some reason I wanted to challenge my brother as to who had the best aim. We went out in the woods and I aimed a a squirrel and killed it. I still remember its cry. I have never shot a gun since. Don't remember if I had the better aim. The death of the squirrel is what I recall. I don't what that to be dramatic. just tell about an experience I had.
3 comments:
I've never heard that story. I can imagine that experience would stick with you.
My Father had guns and hunted. I went to a YMCA camp and they taught us to shoot there as youngsters. Then I went into the Army. I fortunately never went into battle but that pretty much cured me of any desire to own a gun.
I know I've lived in Europe a while now, it seems so odd to me to hear about people owning and shooting guns out in the open. I guess you did not eat the squirrel you shot.
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