My son Reuben took me to the shooting range close to where we live -- by close you have to remember we live in the sticks, so about 40 miles out. If I were already living in Texas I would have said "just up the road a bit" to describe how far we drove so I could kill paper targets. It was fun, but more importantly, it was a life lesson in why I gave birth in the first place. The #1 reason I gave birth to my son was so that on this day he would rule supreme over me and thoroughly school me on self defense, self preservation, self protection, and why I should never join an elite sniper team. (Hint: because I suck at shooting)
You have to understand that even though I was raised in a Southwestern state (Oklahoma) and have been out in the woods I have not been hunting. I have not been target practicing. I have only shot a gun once and I think I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger with both hands. I missed then too. It was determined LONG ago that I'm far better shooting a rifle than I am a hand gun. I've been known to shy from a pistol; even dropping it, and then screaming because I thought it was going to go off in my hands or when it hit the ground for sure. Yep, I'm far better and more comfortable holding a longer barreled weapon and when I do I have a bit more confidence -- at least I can fake my non-nervousness and I don't shake or sweat where the bad guy can see me.
Choosing the right weapon is so important. I told the guy at the front desk I wanted something without a recoil and he showed me the door. At first I thought he kept guns outside where we had just come in from, but soon realized he was directing me to go home -- I laughed, but apparently he's not much of a joker. See why I don't date? Men are mean. Reuben gave the guy the old "man" head nod without saying anything and was escorted to the back office where all the rifles and pistols were kept. The guy finally cottoned up to me after Reuben explained my ignorance - - thank you son -- and I was handed a something or other deer rifle with the number .243 at the end, which I think shoots 30x30 ammo - - but that makes no sense to me. It should shoot 243 sized bullets right? Anyway, I didn't argue, I just listened to my son explain how to load it, how to lock it, how to cock it, how to aim it, and how to shoot it - - and he did this in one long sentence and only 1/2 of a breath. DONE. I had to ask him to do it again, but this time to slow it down a bit -- the gun master left the room before he became angry enough to use one of his guns on me.
We were the only shooters on the deer range. I was given a deer rifle for two reasons: 1. It's easier to explain to law enforcement I'm told. You have a deer rifle you may never be questioned as to why you own one. It's used to shoot deer. the 2nd reason is, you guessed it, it doesn't have as much of a recoil. Well, it does, but it's suppose to be easier for women and/or men who aren't used to shooting. I don't like to lie to law enforcement - - but I will never ever in my life, as long as I live, shoot at a deer. It's not going to happen. Not in this life time and not in any other life times that I am a participant of. I'm getting the rifle to protect myself and Laura from bad men, not good deer. So, Mr. Law Enforcer - - I'm getting a MAN rifle, not a deer rifle. There, I said it.
OK, so you don't think I'm a total baffoon,I will address the issue of aiming first. I did a very good job at shooting the rifle once I understood the concept of closing one eye and aiming with the open one. It ONLY works when you use the open eye to gauge the shot, and no one, not even my son got a chuckle when I tried to aim the rifle with the closed eye -- it was a joke! No one is funny at a gun range.
I practiced a few times and then began shooting. We paid for 30 minutes and in that time I shot at and wounded over 40 paper deer. I nearly cried thinking about their little paper friends, families, baby deer back in the storage cabinet and thought long and hard about asking for paper man targets since I wouldn't be aiming low enough to shoot a deer in the head or a man in the ---- oooooh, yes I guess I might be aiming low enough to shoot a man there. At least he would stop his approach if I did, wouldn't he? OK...I shot 9 deer after that. DEAD. All the deer that came after me after that thought were named "Mr. Bad Guy" and I killed every last one of them. No mercy for their paper friends and relatives - - they had to die.
Well, the rifle was OK, it hurt a bit and I realized that I can actually shoot right and left eyed -- or right and left handed. I'm equally good on both shoulders, and because of that I'm equally sore tonight from the not-suppose-to-have-much-of-a-recoil recoil....the .243 has a good recoil folks, it does. YES, it does. I can handle it because I have "shooter's shoulders" I'm told. How funny, when the assistant told me that I told him I also had child-bearing hips. He said he had noticed my hips when I first came into the office. I blushed and said thank you, but my son wasn't the least bit impressed - - he got in the man's face and asked if the rifle was on sale or if he could pay some now and pick it up in a month or so. It was on sale, but we decided to wait - - I decided to wait. I want to be sure I'm moving to the country before plopping down $550 for a rifle I'm buying to protect me in the country - - for the city "Mr.Bad Guy" I have my dogs, my daughter, and my Kaybar knife to protect me. (I'm not really bragging, but I'm fairly feisty with a blade) Reuben gave me a crash course on grappling as well. See, giving birth to this kid was so beneficial.
There you go - - settled. Once I hear the words "You're hired" and I find myself moving to the no-where zone of middle Texas, where all roads lead somewhere cool, I'll buy the rifle. I'm told the 30x30 ammo is cheap and that if I hang a couple of the paper targets outside the house I could actually detour a would be intruder. He may see that I missed the deer's head - - worry that I may not miss his if I aim the same way I did to put a hole in the center of the animal. Viva La long barrel.