Noir
I'll tell you a story. A true story, for once.
On Wednesday, my Dad gave me this handgun -- it was actually a gun I used in my youth (never you mind that it's illegal for a minor to have a handgun, that's just the kind of farm we lived on -- plus, my father owned a gun store).
Here's one of the things he used to have me do with this gun:
I used to have to stand out by our barn (I have pics of this barn in my photostream), and I had the pistol loaded with these rare little scattershot pellet .22 bullets. Little blue BB's, like ittybitty beads, in the capsule bullets.
Standing there, my father had me shoot bees.
Yes, bees. Carpenter bees, actually.
They'd buzz around, coming in and out of their holes in the barn, and I'd pop them as they flew overhead.
That was one of my childhood tasks. To shoot bees.
I also had to wrangle elk. But that's a story for another time.
Noir
I'll tell you a story. A true story, for once.
On Wednesday, my Dad gave me this handgun -- it was actually a gun I used in my youth (never you mind that it's illegal for a minor to have a handgun, that's just the kind of farm we lived on -- plus, my father owned a gun store).
Here's one of the things he used to have me do with this gun:
I used to have to stand out by our barn (I have pics of this barn in my photostream), and I had the pistol loaded with these rare little scattershot pellet .22 bullets. Little blue BB's, like ittybitty beads, in the capsule bullets.
Standing there, my father had me shoot bees.
Yes, bees. Carpenter bees, actually.
They'd buzz around, coming in and out of their holes in the barn, and I'd pop them as they flew overhead.
That was one of my childhood tasks. To shoot bees.
I also had to wrangle elk. But that's a story for another time.