Ol' Dead Eye

Today is a one for the annals of Wilson-Rucker History.  A grandchild was introduced to guns.

I remember being a wee bitty girl, smaller than Bell is now, and having my grandpa set up a hay bale for the rifle to rest on.  My little arms just weren't big enough to hold it.  I learned about sighting it and learned to hit the tin cans lined on a board.  Later, I learned about loading and pistols and all that goes with guns.  Always, always it was taught that guns were revered in both their importance and danger.  They were not taken lightly or handled without care.  Children certainly didn't handle them without Grandpa right there behind us to make sure we didn't hurt ourselves or anyone else. 

I know I have city friends who would never think of owning a gun, but to some of us, they are vital. They were revered because knowing to use a gun in the country meant knowing how to put down an animal that was suffering.  It meant killing a rabid skunk.  It meant protecting livestock from predators. It meant supper sometimes.  I have  needed one a very few times, but was glad I had the necessary skills when those few times came.

Bella's grandma is a great shot.  Her aunt is really good.  I am adequate.  Bell might be great someday.  Today, Bell just sat with her dad and got a glimpse of what it is about.   She sat on the ground between her dad's legs.  He showed her how to sight and helped her hold it.  She decided it was too loud for her tastes.  That was how I felt at that age too.  It is an acquired taste perhaps.   Today, I stayed longer to do a little target practice.  You know, just in case the zombies come.